


Opium

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Celestial Twins [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amora is one sexy villainess, And only Natasha seems to recognize that, Blackfrost - Freeform, Complete, F/F, F/M, FFM pairing, Femslash, Loki Angst, Loki's a mess, SHIELD agent first, Sif is one hell of an amazing character, Smut, Threesome, Violence, as usual, going to add tags, natasha is a bamf, post TDW, really tried to stay in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Lithium. As far as Natasha Romanov is concerned, SHIELD comes first - always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Politics of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE - This is my sequel to Lithium, and I should warn you right away if you're looking for a fairytale ending this is not the series for you. (Try my Natasha of Asgard stories instead if that's what you like.) Also, this story reaches some new territory; I can only hope you enjoy the places it takes you.

**"** _You shall suffer forever the influence of my kiss. You shall be beautiful in my fashion… And you shall be loved by my lovers, courted by my courtiers. You shall be the queen of all men that have green eyes..."_

_― Charles Baudelaire_

* * *

The Lady Sif escorted the agent through long, golden corridors filled with twisting chandeliers that looked like astrolabes grown to immense size, passing fountains set into the walls and tapestries depicting hunt scenes and royal weddings. By the time they reached the huge double doors, soaring up to the arched ceiling, Natasha's head buzzed from all the luxury surrounding her.

The guards in front of them halted. One stepped forth and knocked; a servant in scarlet and silver livery opened it. "Agent Natasha Romanov," the man said.

The servant ushered her into the king's rooms. If the passageway had seemed immense, the rooms were like an echoing theater – a huge space. Chairs carved from dark wood and what looked like bone skulked in corners, ready for an army of visitors. Long tables filled with bowls of flowers and fruit were on either side. A rich carpet bisected the room, leading to the motionless figure at the other end of the chamber.

"Leave us." Loki's words were all the more forceful for his quiet tone. Sif and the guards bowed, and Natasha was left alone with the king of Asgard.

"Come." He beckoned with one palm.

She checked a sigh. Obviously Loki was showing off, displaying his infinite wealth and total power perhaps as an 'in your face' tactic, although she doubted it. More probably it was his version of a mating ritual.

The deep pile of the carpet swallowed her footsteps. As she reached his side, he turned to regard her, his face stern. "You kept me waiting several days, agent."

"I'm certain Heimdall already told you why." Natasha caught and held his stare; she was not about to be discomfited by grandstanding and parades. "The last case was more complicated than the higher-ups on the council planned." She didn't mention her latest war trophy, a line of stitches under the back of her hair resulting from that oversight.

Loki's lips peeled back from his teeth in anger. "No one is higher up. You are a queen, and you have the attention of a king and a god – why should you listen to these petty mortals as they gamble with your fate?"

She tilted her head on one side and decided to see if she could defuse the situation a bit. "I missed you." A simple confession - let him make of that what he could.

The anger disappeared, was replaced by bewilderment. "Why?"

Natasha felt a rush of weary annoyance. "For heaven's sake, you know why." She turned away, already tired of the gold, the flowers, the luxury.

Loki took one stride, headed her off, held her elbows to look directly into her face. "I do know why. But is it a mere call of the blood? Or more than that?"

"If it is, you're doing an excellent job of talking your way out of it." As though she had come to Asgard on nothing more than an interdimensional booty call! "But since you asked, I'd say it's more like reaching out to like." Natasha tossed her hair, curled and styled by several giggling maids, out of her face.

"The next time I summon you, see to it you arrive …"

"Shut the fuck up!" Natasha swung out with her fist and clipped him on the jaw. "Don't try this bullshit with  _me_ , asshole. I'm not some courtier to be ordered around willy-nilly, and I didn't agree to come on this little jaunt because I wanted a lecture after facing down a crew of the stupidest criminals you could possibly imagine."

Loki rubbed his jaw. There was a long pause. "Do you like the royal bedchamber?" He gestured to the magnificence surrounding them.

"No." She crossed her arms; Loki had succeeded in making her blood boil.

"No!" He looked stunned; she expected another burst of bad temper, but to her surprise he began to laugh. "Why not?"

"It's like sitting inside an auditorium. I expect someone to come out and start talking about pyramid business schemes or some shit."

Loki rolled his eyes around his chamber, taking it in. "I suppose it is a bit much," he admitted. "What would you prefer – a cozy chateau? An island resort? A cliffside manor?"

"Frankly I much preferred the little cabin in the woods – our safe house. But for now, why don't you just come to my rooms in the palace? They're nearby, and we won't have to shout at each other to be heard…"

She didn't finish her sentence before Loki pulled her close with one arm, waved the other, and the gilded hall disappeared.

* * *

They materialized in Natasha's apartment, a comfy salon with over-padded seats, crackling fireplace, and a huge bed. The young women who had labored over Natasha's hairdo were all clustered on a sofa, agog with their gossip. "She caught the king's eye in Midgard!" one said.

"More than his eye, I'd say…" The speaker stopped with a horrified gasp as she saw Loki and Natasha. Instantly the women all bowed their heads.

"Out," Loki ordered. With a flurry of petticoats, the girls disappeared. As soon as they were gone, he brought her close. "Did you say you missed me?" he asked.

"I'm not going to repeat it." As annoyed with him as she was, Natasha couldn't help feeling a spark of desire curling from his rune mark on her thigh. "When do I meet your council?"

"Much as I would like to keep you to myself, we must be off to the throne room in a few minutes. But I wanted to steal some time to talk to you, to see how you are – truly are, not what you say to others."

Natasha drew a long breath of relief. "Good.  _This_ is you – the one who shared my orange in the asylum and got carved up with my steak knife." She tugged at one corner of his cloak, encrusted with jewels and ornate embroidery. "And while we're on that topic, is it still there? the mark I gave you?"

"That is a ridiculous question. Of course it is." Loki made a quick gesture and the entire front of his ornate tunic disappeared, revealing his pale chest and the red scar of Pethro, the rune Natasha had chosen to give him.

"Loki, for crying out loud! We have to go to a meeting, dumbass - what are you doing?" His erection, red and impatient against his pale skin, curled up from a nest of black curls at his groin.

At that he began to laugh so completely he collapsed on her bed, dragging her with him. "Ah, this brings it back!" he gasped. "Your temper, and my lust, and the sweet pain of our collision in Midgard."

Natasha lay on her side and slipped one hand over his hip, regarding him steadily. "Tell me what your life is like now."

He sobered suddenly. "They do whatever I tell them to. In some ways it is good, but in a sense I am losing myself. And then there are the lines of would-be lovers – female and male both, all offering services you could not begin to imagine even with your varied experience, Agent. They laugh at everything I say if they believe it is a joke, or nod and seriously reply  _'Oh, well said, All-Father.'_ But how do I tell if my words are folly or wit? Can you imagine living a life of constant applause? I need you, Natasha, to tell me the truth. Tell me when I a being a – what was the word you used? – a 'dumbass'."

She shook her head. "I'm not the  _only_  one willing to call you out on your bullshit, you know. How about your brother? And before you dismiss that idea via your usual scorn reserved for him, allow me to remind you Thor rescued Maria Hill out of the asylum without raising a single alarm."

With one impatient tug, he pulled her close so his length lay heavily against the black Kevlar covering her thigh. She had refused to exchange her catsuit for a long dress, even though the maids had begged her to try on any number of luxurious gowns. "But that was thanks to your ingenuity. Confess – it was you who set up his plan, was it not?"

"Yes, but I've had agents blow a careful set-up before, believe me."

"Hm." Loki spread his fingers wide, twisted his wrist, and the material covering her front was gone. At the same time a mirror appeared overhead, so they could see themselves.

"Hey!" Natasha protested, but he hushed her.

"Look up, Agent. There, do you see? In the mirror it seems as though nothing is awry. You in your prim catsuit, and I in my ridiculous robes, and yet here between us we know it is not so." One sly thrust put his engorged penis right between her legs.

"Mmmm." Natasha drew him close and whispered into his neck, "We have a meeting to go to."

"I know it." Loki leaned away from her and rose, fully clothed once more. "I just wanted you to think about me as we sat listening to the fools delegate nonsense."

Natasha climbed off the bed, gestured to her middle. "You'll need to fix this up as well with your magic, unless you want me to put on a show – okay, thanks. And by the way, you suck. I really wanted to concentrate on my first delegation meeting in Asgard instead of your big old hard-on."

* * *

Two long rows of glittering, oiled, pomaded officials lined the table inside the chamber Loki called the Minor Assembly. When she entered on his arm, the delegates' heads turned as though they were all tied to one string; only Sif concentrated on the scroll in front of her.

"Such an independent lot," Loki muttered in Natasha's ear.

She gave him a secret pinch and found her seat between a fellow with raised eyebrows giving him a permanently surprised expression and the most beautiful woman Natasha had ever met. The man had long hair, so fair it appeared like ice, striking against his oriental features and dark skin. The woman beside him also had masses of blond hair curling over her shoulders, with high cheekbones and large eyes fringed with lashes like fans.

As one the assembly rose with murmurs of congratulations. Loki waved off their compliments and greetings, turning to Natasha. "My visitor from Midgard," he announced. "You may thank her for the recent treaty of peace between our realms."

There was a flurry of polite applause. "Well done," the exotic man said.

"Yes, indeed," the blond woman echoed.

Natasha began to see what Loki meant. A life of that constant admiration and praise would drive her out of her mind. And what would it do to him, already shaky when it came to sanity and self-worth?

"All-Father Loki, our first matter at hand is the trade between Vanahaim and Alfheim. Strained by war, the relations between the two are tenuous, and if we wish to avoid another set of skirmishes…" The speaker was an elderly gentleman with hair curled into an ornate style. The figure of a flying dragon completed the hairdo, poised on top of the ringlets and braids.

Those around the table nodded as the speaker droned on about history of the realms and the politics involved. Natasha tried to keep herself still as the speech continued;  _how could Loki put up with it?_  He held himself very upright as he listened, writing an occasional note on a scroll provided for him by a hovering manservant.

At last the long-winded fellow sat down to more applause. "Well done," the man on Natasha's right said.

"Yes, indeed," the woman repeated.

Natasha felt a snort of laughter behind her nose. Were they wind-up automatons, doomed to say nothing but their selected phrases at any given moment? She caught Loki's eye and he winked; obviously he was thinking the same thing.

"We  _would_  like to increase our trade with Alfheim," a courtier began.

"And we would like the same with Vanaheim," said another. "However, if the realm in question acts so foolishly, what is there to do but resort to a tightening of interactions?"

"That is ridiculous." Sif spoke in a commanding, imperious voice filled with strength; Natasha leaned forward to watch the warrior speak. "Any such thing will begin a downward spiral of hostility, resulting in a possible war." Her lovely face creased with a slight frown.

"Lady Sif," the fellow next to Natasha snorted. "I am surprised that you of all people should object to warfare." There was a general bout of laughter at his words.

"And I am surprised that you of all people should have wit enough to speak, Hodur." Sif's frown deepened. "I will face any battle at hand and well all who sit at this table know it, but I do not feel the need to engineer a quarrel where none currently exists. Why not increase the peace at a slow pace and use the armies to improve conditions in Asgard and all realms?"

"Enough." Loki cut her off and picked up the scroll lying on the marble table; with a dark glance in his direction Sif subsided. "The representatives of Alfheim and Vanaheim may rest assured the AllFather will keep their requests in mind. For the moment, I suggest a slowly escalating trade but with a third party to keep an eye on activity on both realms. Now, the agenda states…"

"…It is time to discuss your marriage, All Father." The speaker was the lovely woman with the blond curls.

"Yes, yes, Amora. We do not need to concern ourselves with that just yet." Loki rolled up the scroll and put it down on the table; obviously he was preparing to wrap up the meeting.

"Begging your pardon, we do. The AllFather must marry and very soon – the realm is unsettled if you do not have a wife. There are several candidates, and I would like to go through them one by one. Hodur, do you have the list?"

The blond youth addressed as Hodur sat up and gave the beauty addressed as Amora a loose scroll, but Loki interrupted as she began to read from it. "I said enough! Furthermore, the final choice is my own. I am quite aware the realm needs a queen, and I will provide you with one. You must grant me more time – I refuse to be rushed in that matter." He rose and held out one arm. "Natasha, you will escort me to my chamber."

* * *

"Well, you couldn't have caused a bigger commotion if you had tried," she murmured as they swept up the stairs to his huge suite of rooms. "Everyone will be pairing our names together now. Does Asgard have paparazzi and gossip mags?"

"Good," he answered with satisfaction. "I want them to pair our names together. Allow me to change out of these ridiculous robes of state, and we will away to your rooms. And there, Agent, I intend to rekindle our friendship posthaste – damnation!"

The curse was forced out of him. At the doors of his chambers, the blond youth Hodur waited. He wore nothing more than a collar set with gleaming jewels around his neck; it was attached to a long leash held by Amora. "I thought you might enjoy a distraction, AllFather," she said with a gleaming smile.

Loki flicked his gaze over the youth. "Very nice, but I do not wish for further company. Unless you would like him, Natasha?"

She laughed. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"She's good," Loki repeated to Amora. "Be off, the pair of you."

With a sneer, Amora swished past them and headed down the hall, dragging Hodur behind like a chic model with an unruly purebred. "Goodness!" Natasha said, as the doors opened and Loki ushered her inside. "They were both very beautiful, to be sure."

"Hmph. Beautifully simple, inside and out. He would adore to waste my time and pick my pockets while being my 'distraction', and Amora has one object of her affections: herself." Loki took off his robes and flung them on a chair; like Hodur, he was completely naked underneath. He put his arms around Natasha and kissed her neck, pressing himself against her. "Which reminds me, Agent – what did you think of the meeting?"

"I'm glad you asked." Natasha captured his lip between her teeth, and pulled it slightly. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. "I was very impressed with what Sif had to say - of everyone at the table, she made the most sense."

"That warrior." Loki thrust her back so he could search her face with his pale, intent gaze. "She knows of nothing beyond swords and buckets of ale. What  _did_  she have to say, in any case? I was too busy thinking about your body intertwining with mine under the mirror I gifted you this evening."

"Yes, but if you're the AllFather you have to pay attention to these things. And she said the divide between those two realms would disintegrate, since you missed it, and it was better to put energies towards building rather than…"

"Forget all of that for now. I actually wanted to ask you about the other matter." As he spoke, Loki punctuated his speech with kisses on her neck, her eyelids, her mouth. "My marriage. What do you think of that? Hm?"

Natasha felt cold dread uncurl in her stomach. "Look, that's your business. Whatever happens, though, I hope there's some way you and I can continue our little interludes, although if your future wife forbids it then we'll just have to say goodbye."

"Oh, no." Loki shook his head and his lips resolved into a firm line. "You and I are never saying goodbye." He waved one arm and they were transported out of his chamber to her bed, under the mirror. Natasha looked up and watched their reflection as he tongued the flesh between her breasts, over her stomach, her thighs.

"You said you get offers like that all the time? I mean that kid on a leash – you have your own little fangroups?" She gasped as he licked one long stripe over her quivering clit.

"All the time – it is quite tedious and part of the reason why I need a wife, Agent, to put an end to that nonsense."

Natasha knew she could head him off that topic but only for so long. Still, she would use every bit of skill she had to make him forget about the delicate matter of marriage – the last thing she wanted in his or any other realm. "Back to the subject at hand. You're allowed to lick me three times," she ordered, "and then it's my turn to employ my tongue. Three times. The loser is the one who begs for the other to continue."

"Oh, Agent," Loki breathed. "Your imagination undoes me, as usual. Prepare for defeat, Natasha."

* * *

At the same moment they screamed for mercy, both losing and winning at once, and Loki buried himself in her to the hilt. As she returned his kiss and arched up under him to feel every delicious inch, Natasha realized with a sudden pang she could never allow him to leave her life.


	2. Briefing

_“One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.” - Beaudelaire_

* * *

A few days after she returned to Midgard Natasha sought out Thor. He met her in the conference room at the Tower, wearing his signature grin and looking a bit more tired than usual. "Have you heard the news from Asgard?" she asked as soon as they had greeted each other.

His face didn't move, but she could sense sadness beneath his usual mask of strength and good humor. "I just returned this morning. All of Yggdrasil is abuzz with it. Odin, my father, dead. Loki his successor – not me. And now I am nothing more than a useless god with a large hammer, wandering the realms in search of a place to fit in."

"Useless? Hardly. You rescued Maria, if you recall." Privately Natasha was surprised; she had never expected introspection from such a large, hearty fellow. She regarded him, her pencil hovering over the notebook gifted to her by Loki when they were in the safe house in the woods.

"Probably this is all my fault," Thor concluded. He sat suddenly in the chair behind him, causing it to groan in protest. "I should never have left Asgard in the first place."

"You had the hots for a chick, dude. It happens." Uninvited, Tony wandered in and clapped the god of thunder on one shoulder. "So Loki is on the throne now? Not that I was eavesdropping or anything. Lucky guess, really. I'm thinking chaos and disaster are the result – am I right?"

"Actually, things are rather peaceful in my realm. To be honest, my brother has solved some ongoing problems and ended a few skirmishes since he became king, and he wants to include Midgard in his plans as well." Thor spoke calmly, but she had the feeling a great number of emotions were simmering under the surface. After all, he had probably been raised to consider himself the successor to Odin's throne. Now what was left for him? A mighty hammer and his spot in the Avengers? That could never be enough.

The pencil point snapped; Natasha reached for another 2B. "Loki has plans for Midgard? None of this came up when I was in the council meeting on Asgard. What does it all mean exactly?" she asked.

"He told me there has been a great deal of commerce and interaction between the other realms – besides Helheim and Valhalla, of course. They do not count. But he thinks Midgard could align with Asgard in many ways…"

"Hang on," Tony interrupted. "Shit just got real. Is Laufeyson really suggesting we conduct business in another level of existence?"

Thor shook his head. "I know, it sounds completely insane."

"Dude, are you kidding? Stark Industries dealing with another dimension – inter-realm shipping and receiving – it could spur all kinds of business, create another stocks bubble. One with some real heat behind it. Holy shit! Jarvis - get Nick in here."

"Commander Fury has already been alerted, sir."

The door crashed open and Nick strode into the room. "Tony, don't tell me you are seriously considering economic interaction with that cowskull-wearing, broomstick-riding son of a bitch. When he has, and I quote, 'plans for Midgard' it's never good."

"Nick, hang on," Tony said. "Thor, what  _exactly_  does Loki have in mind?"

"Well, that is the crux of it. He wants the Black Widow to form the Midgard alliance with a mind towards trade."

"Take my best agent in one shot?" Nick shook his head. "I don't think so."

"He offers magical assistance with our most dangerous cases as a bargain," Thor said.

_Oh, I'll just bet he does._  Natasha could picture Loki's face when he said it. "How about a sub-group? Offer two or three of us, plus Thor of course, and we can form the alliance with the other realms. I have the asylum case to finish up first, but once that's done I can devote my full energies to relations with Asgard."

Silence descended before everyone swiveled to face her. Natasha maintained her poker face; in her opinion it was the best way to deal with the upcoming negotiations.

"How about we just forget the whole thing?" Fury sounded apoplectic.

"Nick, have you seen the economy lately? It sucks. Put me on that alliance – add in Tony as a business interest – and we can broker a deal to kickstart hundreds of future jobs in one deal. Maybe thousands." She felt her interest grow as she talked; Loki may have started the alliance as a means to drag her to his realm and into his bed, but by God she would make certain SHIELD kept him to his word.

"It would stop any future shutdowns of the Avengers ops," Tony pointed out. Obviously he was dying to check it out.

Natasha stifled a laugh. "Once we get a deal in place, we can secure inter-dimensional travel rules and safety assurances for all involved. We would have to move very, very carefully. I don't want any nasty shit coming this way as a result of opening up trade between the realms – and vice-versa, by the way. No need for Asgard to discover what the drug trade is or how sex slavery works."

* * *

Natasha called Clint after the meeting ended. She met him at their favorite dive bar, the one with the sticky floor and 99 beers on tap. Clint was trying to drink his way through the entire list; he kept ordering brews from Germany and Australia and complaining they weren't as good as what he could get in Iowa. Only the promise of his name engraved on a scummy brass tab on the wall kept him working through the list.

Natasha took a long sip of some dark beer from England. It was heavily alcoholic; she needed some liquid courage for what she was about to divulge. "Clint," she began.

He cut her off. "When are we going hunting again? I thought we could take a few days after you finish with the asylum cluster and head into the mountains, maybe the Finger Lakes. Hike all day, eat charred meat over a fire – what do you say?" When she hesitated he added quickly, "Look, I know you and Steve went on a couple of dates. I'm not trying to set up an exclusive deal, you know."

Natasha waved him off. "I know, I know. God, let's not talk about relationship crap until we're a few more beers in. Did I hear you upgraded your bow?"

He grinned. "Sweet, right? Tony devised an alloy based on the structure of Steve's shield, and it totally works with my shooting style. I'm getting ten percent more rounds in per minute as a result. Now he's working on developing a few different kind of arrows - lighter, with a larger payload."

"Pretty slick, Slick!" She was genuinely interested. "I'd love to see it in action."

"Maybe you will in Asgard if I ever get a ticket." Clint raised and lowered his brows rapidly at her and chugged the rest of his beer.

Natasha slammed her empty glass down on the bar and gestured for another. "Clint, that's what I want to talk to you about. You heard about all that shit pumped into my veins when I was inside that asylum, right?"

"Yeah. Had to have sucked."

"Yeah. It did." Two more beers were delivered and Natasha downed half of hers with a few swallows. "My body should have neutralized it, but the meds were engineered to overcome even my super-serum status."

Clint squinted at her in the dark pub. "You're okay, right? Been released by Medical? Tests turned out okay, everything's back to normal?"

"Sure, sure." Natasha turned her bar stool to face him. "And you know what I told you about after the hospital?"

He mimed puking into his beer. "You and Loki? Yeah. I've been trying to forget it."

"When we go to Asgard it could happen again."

He slammed down his beer so hard it splashed on his sleeve. "What? Fuck that! You were in a tough situation at the time, I get that, but now we're all back to normal, or almost."

"But we're talking about…"

"Look, word gets out fast. I already heard about the Midgard-Asgard alliance."

"Let me guess - Tony?"

His mouth went into a tight line. "Yeah. And I know it's an incredible opportunity for Stark and the economy, but we shouldn't be forced into slave status as a result. I mean, if you have to do your Widow thing I won't get in your way. I never do. But..." She didn't answer, just stared at him over the rim of her beer glass, and after a long moment Clint heaved a long sigh. "Oh, Jesus," he said at last. "You want to."

Natasha put her head on the bar, covered it with both arms. Finally she sat up and dragged her hands over her face. "Ugh, talking about this kind of crap sucks ass. Can't we just order shots instead? And food? And more shots?"

Clint didn't move; she felt skewered by those hangdog eyes. He took a long drink, set his beer carefully on the bar, and moved it around to create a pattern of circles on the surface. "Here's the thing," he said at last. "I'm not going to shout, or yell, or even discuss this at all unless you ask me to. If there's anyone whose judgment I trust, it's you."

"Shit." The shots arrived, and she tossed one down.

He watched her, amused. "You want to wait for me next time?"

"Oops, sorry!" They faced each other, two old friends with a shared history between them, and she bumped his side with her elbow. "Ready?"

"Ready."

She drank another vodka and wished that just for once in her life she could get stinking, puking drunk – so wasted she wouldn't have to think for the next twelve hours.

* * *

With Thor and Clint in the loop, Natasha rewarded herself with an entire day on her own - in her apartment, with only her laptop and the asylum files from Loki's memory stick for company. Any slight hangover she might have had from the night before faded as she opened up folders of financial reports, purchases, institutional records.

Out of pure curiosity, she clicked on the file marked  _Rushman_. "Subject does not realize how delusional she is," Natasha read. "Speaks of family and friends but obviously has neither. Average intelligence."

"He certainly got that wrong." Loki appeared beside her and pointed to the last line.

"What the fuck!" Natasha yelped and nearly dropped the computer. "Could you maybe warn me next time?"

"With a peal of thunder? No, I cannot." Loki winked and drew her close for a long kiss. "Are you enjoying the files I gave you from the hospital?"

"They finally passed through clearance. SHIELD found nothing unusual, although there are some leads I need to check out."

"I suppose they shall waste everyone's time, yours included, trying to run down the various companies listed inside that little box." He snorted and pointed to the financial report folder. "Naturally they will be shadows, mere figments created to hide other shadows, and at the end of a long investigation there will be nothing more than a shady business dealing in men's hosiery."

Natasha couldn't help emitting a hoarse laugh. "Have you done this before?"

"No. However, I can recognize your SHIELD council is just as incompetent as my 'advisors' on Asgard. Come now, we will find the true connection before those idiots send you off on a fool's errand."

She hesitated. Technically it was all classified information, but the files were in their possession thanks to the god wedging himself next to her on her tiny sofa. Plus she had a profound respect for his intelligence. "Promise not to go all crazy on me? Promise not to be  _you_  for a few minutes?"

"Agent!" Loki pressed his hand over his heart with a wounded expression. "This is the AllFather you are addressing. I will conduct myself with the utmost propriety. Furthermore, I promised magical support if you help set-up a trade alliance between our realms, did I not? Consider this a sample of my payment."

"Okaaaay," she said. Natasha clicked on the financial report; it opened to reveal a list of transactions that looked, as Loki had predicted, completely anonymous. One recurring payment came from Key Communication Services; the very name told Natasha it would indeed end up with men's sock garters and a pile of old boxes in an abandoned rental storage unit.

"Shit." She slammed back against the pillows of the sofa. "This is pointless. We need to pinpoint who exactly funded that hospital, but how? Wait – what are you doing?"

Loki held up his hand. A green mist, now familiar to Natasha, spread out and covered the screen. "I just want to see if I can narrow down these choices." The mist coagulated and resolved over one line of type.

"So, what does that mean?" Natasha asked.

"Shungun Marine Shipping," he read. "That, my dear agent, is your clue to the affair."

She stretched out one finger, but the green smoke dissipated under her touch. "Hey, that's handy. Any chance you can build a magical app?" It was a joke, but the possibility caught hold of her. "Actually,  _is_  that an option?"

"When you smile at me with your eyes like that, anything is an option." Loki leaned forward and bit her neck. "But, of course you would need me here to make it viable."

"Oh. Well, that won't work, what with your new career path and all… how are things on Asgard? Did Alfheim and Vaneheim work things out?"

"Did that little argument intrigue you? Yes, we decided that to allow any sort of aggressive stance would only cause a spiral towards eventual warfare."

Natasha felt her jaw drop. "But that's exactly what Sif said at your meeting, and everyone made fun of her for stating it."

"Did she?" Loki seemed to lose interest. "How much more work must you do? Will you attend me at dinner?"

"I've got a buttload of work to do, thanks to your help." She sat forward and started to tap on the keys. "Shungun Marine Shipping – it looks like a recruitment agency for oil tankers. Tough job, too – those workers have to stay on the ships for several weeks at a clip, usually, although most rigs are pretty luxurious. Relatively speaking, of course." A prickle of interest crawled up her back; it was her sixth sense telling her she was heading in the right direction. "I can start with research to see exactly what Shungun is on the surface. Later go undercover, head out there and dig deeper."

"Always the agent," Loki murmured, a little sadly. "If I return to my realm without bedding you, I shall be sorely disappointed."

"Oh, yeah, no worries." Natasha waved off his concern. "You don't have to take me out to get me in bed. Let's skip the wining and dining part and we can jump each other's bones as soon as I finish a preliminary plan." She returned to the laptop.

Loki grew bored after a bit and tried to peel off her shirt. She warded him off, but as she did he pointed to the screen. "Sylvie Lushton," he read from a manifest for a jack-up oil platform called Karnilla Natasha had found by hacking into the Shungun site. "That name sounds familiar."

"It does? From a previous trip to Midgard, perhaps?"

"No, but Amora once mentioned it to me. She told me she had her eye on a mortal called Sylvie."

Natasha stared at him, the familiar pulse of excitement thundering through her bloodstream. "It's a common enough name, I suppose," she murmured, "but it could be a tie-in between our realms in this case. If something is going on between Asgard and Midgard, and if Amora is involved…"

"I did not say she is involved. I merely said she mentioned that name to me before." He brushed the curls off her neck and blew in her ear.

Natasha shivered. "Ooh, that's so nice – but hold off just a minute. I've learned to trust my instincts, Loki, and I think I'm going to have to get my ass on the Karnilla oilrig soon. I'll just get a new identity ready, email this to Fury, and the op should be ready to go as soon as the Council signs off on it."

"So you will not return to Asgard with me, Agent?" Loki blew in her ear again, licked her earlobes. As usual she wore no earrings; she never had time in the morning to pick out a matching pair of hoops or posts.

"Hang on…" Natasha held up one hand to ward him off as she wrote a few more lines and closed her laptop before climbing into his lap. "There, done for now. I'll be out of touch for a few weeks once I start the op, but tonight I'm all yours." She covered his mouth with hers, slid one hand down to find the bulge between his legs.

* * *

That night Loki was on fire. Natasha had never experienced kisses so passionate, lovemaking so intense. He stared into her eyes as he filled her, vowing he would take as long as he desired. She knew her impending absence was part of it – Loki always wanted what he couldn't have. Because she wouldn't yield fully to him, she had become an inaccessible goal.

He was clever, wily – Loki hid his desires and pretended to concentrate on the physical act, licking and sucking as though to remind her he would never grow tired, drawing it out until, when she exploded in a screaming release, Natasha nearly blacked out for a moment.

"Loki." She couldn't help the gasp of pleasure as she said his name, collapsed in his arms, and fingered the scar cut into his chest. And at that one word, his name on her lips, a glint of obsession flickered in his eyes - a fleeting glimpse of just how badly he wanted her.

Natasha pulled him back into her arms, kissed him deeply, felt the slish of creamy arousal between her legs as he thrust inside once more. For the moment she could hold him off with generous fucks and amusing chatter. But how long could she keep Loki, King of the Nine Realms and AllFather of the Gods, at arms' length?


	3. Opiate

_“Remembering is only a new form of suffering.”  - Charles Baudelaire_

* * *

Natasha swam into a waking state. A soft breath stirring her hair meant Loki was still in her bed; she smiled and stretched like a cat, happy to have a few more stolen hours next to him. That contentment vanished the instant she opened her eyes and sat up. At some point during the night he had whisked them off to Asgard, and she was in the enormous bed of his royal chambers.

"What the hell?" Natasha punched the dreaming god. He protested, pulled the covers over his head, and refused to respond when she kicked him and demanded an explanation. "Loki, why are we – how did you – what were you thinking? Wake up, you shithead!" The only answer was a gentle snore.

"Fine, I'm going to find some clothes." She bounded out of bed and strode out into the outer chambers utterly naked, ignoring the servants as they cleared their throats. "Find me something to wear," she demanded. One elderly gent bowed, rummaged in a small closet inlaid with a design representing Yggdrasil, and handed her a length of some soft, sheer material.

The gown proved to be warm and deceptively simple - although she wore no underclothes, it wrapped her figure and functioned as a bra, corset, and dress all at once. The way it swished over her nakedness was both arousing and comforting. She ignored the sleeping figure of Loki and pushed past the lines of servants, determined to find some breakfast and a way home before Fury entered cardiac arrest.

In the hall, the usual line of boot-lickers and ass-kissers waited to see the AllFather. Hodur held a small wooden box; probably Amora had sent the youth with a priceless gift to present to Loki. Behind him stood a burly giant with an axe, several courtiers with pomaded hair, and a pair of dark women so lovely and similar they had to be twins. Natasha was amused to see they wore leggings attached to V necked chemises – apparently her catsuit had become stylish in the palace.

At the end of the line stood Sif, looking stony with anger. Natasha felt a bolt of relief when she saw the warrior and wished her good morning.

Sif shook her head in denial. "Not particularly good, no," she hissed.

"You too, huh?"

A moment passed. One of the sisters sneezed. Hodur peered inside his box, checked the contents, and closed it again. At length Sif seemed to measure Natasha with an intent glance and murmured, "Follow me. We cannot speak here."

* * *

Sif's rooms were small compared to the echoing cavern Loki inhabited but still huge by Midgardian standards. Natasha looked around and noted with approval the warrior was neat; everything was polished until it gleamed. The furnishings were utilitarian, for the most part: a map table, a rack of weapons, several stands for armor, a long bookshelf filled with volumes.

Gesturing to a pair of straight chairs, Sif sat, crossed her legs, and clasped her hands on one booted knee. "I have noticed several things that need to come to the AllFather's attention. However, will he listen? Loki seems more preoccupied with getting you into his bed."

"Hey, I was brought here against my will this time," Natasha protested. Sif raised one brow and she added, "To be perfectly honest, we went to bed together in my world and woke up in Asgard. I have my own affairs to take care of, but he yanked me away while I was asleep."

"Humph." Sif's tone made it patently obvious she held no interest in Natasha's situation. "Well, it has come to my attention that something is very wrong here on Asgard. I have seen drunkenness with honest ale, mead by the bucket and five-day benders, but never such a scourge as there is now in the palace."

Although she wanted to get back to Stark Towers, Natasha felt a thread of interest. "What sort of scourge?"

"Something completely new in this realm. Tell me, did you see the box that idiot held?"

"Hodur?"

"Yes, that idiot. It is filled with some sort of potion or powder which seems to cause heartbreak and despair for those who breathe it in."

Natasha sat up. "But he was going to give it to Loki – I mean, the AllFather. Shouldn't we stop him?"

"As long as he is panting after you, Loki will dismiss the entire line of suitors. No one will see him today since you alone seem to hold him in thrall, unlike any I have seen as long as I have known him. Should you return to your own realm, however, there could be a great deal of trouble…but who would deliberately leave the King of the Nine Realms?"

"As I stated, I have my own mission," Natasha repeated. "As soon as I begin it I won't return for a few weeks at least."

Sif frowned. "A prolonged absence could be dangerous. Amora has him in her sights, and once that bitch gets her claws in there is no telling what will happen."

Natasha sighed. "We're still trying to clean up after a strange case. Loki and I were thrown into an asylum, of all things, and there was some really weird shit happening. Holding patients against their wills, drugging them up, selling their organs on the blackmarket… we shut down the whole thing, but the question remains – why did they drag me and Loki into it? And who was running it in the first place?"

"That is where you entered into the dalliance with Silvertongue?"

"Well, yeah." Natasha shrugged. "It was the last thing on my mind, believe me, but somehow it just happened."

"Mortals are presumed to be dull, weak beings." Sif's eyes flicked up and down, taking inventory. "You are brave and beautiful – and deadly as well, if what Thor says is true. Loki must have found you to be a sweet surprise, all the more desirable for being forbidden - no wonder he wants to put you on the throne with him."

"Woah, hang on right there." Natasha put up one hand to stop the flow of words. "I can't marry the dude. I'm not the marrying type, and – look at me. Do you really want a Midgardian as a queen? Not that he's asked, but…"

"No, he will ask." The warrior tilted up her chin. "A ruler from Midgard could be problematic, but it is better than the alternative – Loki on his own with a long line of dogs willing to do or say anything for his approval. At least you seem to have some sense."

Natasha shook her head. "Not going to happen, sorry. But tell me more about this powder."

"I have seen two men use it this morning, and it seems to weaken them. Not only that, once they try it they crave more. Yesterday a girl was found in her bed, half-starving in a death's sleep. She had been there for days, unwilling to get up unless she had more." Sif's nostrils flared with repressed anger.

"Fuck." Natasha stood up and paced to the window; outside a light snow fell. A golden half-light struggled through the billowing clouds overhead, making the flakes sparkle in the air. "There was another type of drug in that case in the asylum. I was injected with it over and over again, and it nearly was the end of me and my mission. Doesn't matter how long it takes - I  _will_  find the person responsible and take them down."

She turned back to Sif, thinking furiously. "Loki thought there might be a connection between Amora and the drug we found in Midgard. Do you think she's responsible for your scourge? Hodur seems to be a pet of hers, and if he's carrying a box of the stuff – well, I've learned there are no such things as coincidences."

"It could well be. I would put nothing past that Helspawn witch – but why would she do such a thing? Unless she wants to get Loki off the throne and Thor on it."

" _Would_  she want that?" Natasha was completely invested in the tale; she wished she could create a double of herself so she could investigate both cases at once.

Sif leaned back, crossed her arms. Her eyes were sparkling, intelligent, shrewd. "Amora has always been in love with Thor. She has tried many times to win him, but in each attempt her efforts failed."

"I see. So there is a motive and a connection – my senses tell me something's up." Natasha pursed her lips, tapped them with one finger. "I can't promise you anything, but I will certainly bring all of this to Loki's attention. He may be a real prick, but I believe he wants Asgard to flourish under his reign."

"Why would he want that? Loki cares for naught but his own desires."

"But that's just it," Natasha insisted. "He's too vain to be seen as a failure again."

* * *

When the object of the conversation found her later, Natasha was standing in a courtyard covered by a crystal roof. The snow still fell, making white patterns on the glass.

"Agent," Loki breathed, folding her into his arms from behind.

"Loki!" Natasha jumped and kissed him back before she remembered she was angry. "Dude, how dare you kidnap me and take me to Asgard? I'm beyond angry, you dickhead!"

He grinned and stole another kiss. "I sent your plans to Commander Fury, with my compliments. I have also promised him my help. The operation goes into effect in another day, leaving you time to spend this night here with me." Natasha gasped, and his grin widened. "I love it when you are angry with me. Your beauty makes you shine like an avenging angel."

"Yeah, well, I'll be avenging your butt in a second." She waved her fist under his nose. "I told you my job comes first, and how dare you make those decisions for me? And what's up with sending sensitive information in my name?" Before she could add any more complaints, she thought of the talk with Sif. "Actually, now that you're here, I want to talk to you."

He was still chuckling. "Are you certain? I was hoping I could discover what 'avenging my butt' entailed."

"This has to do with Asgard. Apparently there is something going on in the palace – some kind of nasty stuff going around."

"Oh, you mean the intoxicant." Loki waved one hand in the air. "Nothing to concern yourself with, agent – I have already disposed of it, and Hodur will not dare to wave his little brand of snuff under my nose again."

"But there could be more," she protested.

"No. I disposed of it and all traces of it within the palace. Tomorrow I will do the same for the realm."

"Hm!" Natasha tried, and failed, to mask her admiration. "All via magic, I suppose? That's pretty sweet. Do you know what it was?"

"Some dream-inducing substance. I believe it is called 'Opiate' in your realm." Loki pulled her against his chest and ran his hands over her hips and breasts, hidden under the soft fabric of her gown. "Gods, you look divine in this dress. If I am not mistaken, you are wearing nothing underneath it – and where did you get it in the first place?"

Natasha tipped her head back and laughed at him. "Stalked out of your bed and demanded it from your serving guys. I was naked at the time, too."

"I can only hope you did not cause them to die of apoplexy." He tilted her chin up with one finger, kissed her lingeringly. "I want you to attend the council with me this afternoon, but tonight will be for us. We will dine in state, with the finest wines Asgard has to offer."

She groaned. "Does that mean we sit at two ends of a long table while fifteen people stand there and watch us eat? No, thank you." Not to mention she wanted to stay away from romantic things like dinners and cozy venues – they could lead to dangerous confessions, unwanted demands. "Can't we just go grab some sandwiches and eat in bed? I promise not to leave too many crumbs."

"No, Agent." His tone was gentle but firm. "We will dine together tonight, but you may choose the place. What is your favorite spot?"

She sighed. "The safe house, I suppose."

* * *

The small cabin was just the same – wood and glass, with more falling snow outside the windows. Natasha wheeled around, marveling at his creation; everything was perfect. In the dark glass she could see her reflection - hair curled and piled high by the usual handmaidens after a long bath. Loki, much to her annoyance, had insisted on watching the entire procedure.

She saw him come up behind her with a green object that flashed in the candlelight, felt the heavy smoothness as he fastened a priceless chain around her neck and kissed the skin just above the catch. "Are you kidding me right now?" she scolded. "I don't want your gifts and jewels."

"Too late. It is no longer mine - now it belongs to you." Loki gestured to the table, set with the same food they had shared before – wine, steak, and oysters. "It brings it all back, does it not?" he asked quietly, bringing her fingertips to his lips and down to his chest, to rest on the spot where she had cut Petro, her runemark, on his skin. "But of course this is merely a twin of the first little house, since your own agency has sealed off the original. It took a great deal of magic to remake it, but I believe it will be worth the effort."

His tone was light, but his fingertips caressed the nape of her neck where he had fastened the magnificent jewel. The very gentleness of his touch made Natasha's belly roll with terror for what was unsaid; she tried to open his shirt, to lick and kiss the scar and make him forget dinner, but carefully he pushed her off. "Let us take our time tonight, agent," Loki said. "I wish to watch those red lips of yours drink wine, and I want to know all about you. Every thought. Every wish. Every desire. We have hours ahead of us – let us spend it in conversation before I strip that gown off your body and thrust inside you."

The thought made her throw her head back with lust, and it was Loki's turn to laugh at her, help her to her seat, hold an oyster shell to her mouth as he had once before. "Mmm." She ate and took a sip of wine. "This does bring me back. We hardly ate anything that night, if you recall - you grew impatient and pushed our food onto the floor."

"I will not do so this time. After a long day of council and compliments, it is good to relax in the only company I can truly trust."

"Tell me," she asked quickly, "are you pleased with the situation in Asgard?"

"No. No, I am not. I need a queen, Natasha, and this you know very well."

_Shit._  Natasha picked up her glass of wine, gulped, and set it down. "Loki…"

"Agent, listen to me. I will give you and SHIELD everything you need to keep peace in your realm. The trick I played in your apartment to narrow down your list of suppliers was the merest glimpse of what I can do – imagine finding the most dreadful criminals, the most villainous evildoers, and routing them out in Midgard and in Asgard. We could do it together, Agent, and you will keep your catsuit and your title." Loki's eyes never left hers, and casually he rubbed her rune mark with his thumb.

A series of shocks, almost like tiny orgasms, ran between her legs. Natasha tried to press her thighs together; she was rapidly losing the ability to think. "I want to be with you," she started, but he interrupted.

"Then be with me." Loki casually produced a silver casket, inlaid with what looked chips of pure fire.

"Oh, no," Natasha said. "No no no no no. Don't do this."

He ignored her and opened the box. Inside was a ring, elegant with age and beautifully designed – silver, with opals set into an intricate design. "Marry me," Loki insisted. "Marry me, Natasha."

She felt a burning in her lungs, her knees trembled. His face was lunar white, and she the wave caused by his gravity. "Let us be lovers. I'll do whatever you want except marry you. Wait – don't lose your temper yet – you don't want to have a mere mortal as your wife, do you? Do you really think Asgard would go for it, not to mention Alfheim and Vanaheim?"

"They will do as I tell them," he said in a voice pitched low with intensity.

"But why not start off your reign with a choice they would prefer under the best possible terms? I don't care – I'll stay here whenever I can, come to Asgard between missions, I'll run straight to your bed when I return…"

He stood up and threw the box with the ring across the room, eyes blazing. "So you want my body for your desires, but not my company? Is that it? Do you bear no love for me at all? You little idiot, do you not see that we are twins, that no one will ever see inside you as I do?"

Natasha felt scalding drops sear her skin. "I already know that," she muttered.

Loki seized her by the arms, brought her face to face, and shouted, "Then be my queen, or leave now and never return! No more of this…" He gave her a kiss, brutal in its intensity, his breath hot on her lips. "No more of me! No trade agreements – you can inform Fury yourself you have broken it. All finished – all gone with one thoughtless action!"

They stood motionless, and she thought they were both shocked by what he said. For a moment, just to keep him near, she nearly considered marrying Loki, becoming a queen…

_Assault on identity. Channeling of guilt. Confession and rebirth._  All stages of brainwashing - she knew them by heart, because she had lived each one, over and over again. Any sign of emotion was a weakness, tiny movements towards friendship were stamped out. The old celluloid doll given her by Ivan? Burnt in front of her face. Tatiana, the girl in the room next door? Forced to fight Natasha in the ring until they drew blood. Sasha, the boy who stole a kiss? Killed by her own bullet during an undercover op.

What Loki wanted had been bred out of her - rewired so it no longer existed. She couldn't inflict her bullshit on anyone else, especially a half-crazy god responsible for the well-being of the entire universe. And as she reached her decision, a flicker of anger flared inside her chest. "You do not get to make the terms," she declared. "I have already been manipulated enough - you know this. You, second only to Clint, know this!"

"Make the terms," Loki repeated. "What - you think I am establishing boundaries? Forging an emotional prison? Becoming your jailer? How dare you! I am your twin, your other half. Clint Barton - he may have heard each word of your history, but I am the only one who can understand it. And you know  _this_!"

Her own words flung back at her made her eyes close in a desperate attempt to escape. Several times in her life the past had overlapped the present, always with unbearably tragic results. It seemed now was one of those times.

"Alone," he continued. "You will be alone, Agent. And so will I. We are both used to it, are we not? Except after this interlude together, the void of solitude appears so much darker and colder than it ever did before."

Natasha shook her head. For the first time in decades, she couldn't trust her voice.

Silence was the only response. When she opened her eyes, she still wore the beautiful gown, and the necklace of sparkling green stones hung around her neck.

But the safe house was gone. Natasha was back in her own apartment, alone, as Loki had warned.

Apparently she had been banished from Asgard.


	4. Mission

_I am the vampire of my own heart,_  
 _one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter_  
 _who can no longer smile._  
 _Am I dead?_  
 _I must be dead." - Charles Baudelaire_

* * *

The folder was stamped in smeared red ink, marking it cleared by Commander Fury and the World Security Council. Natasha sat in her apartment and memorized the contents as she reread the files. There was no doubt the leads Loki had discovered on her laptop led them to Karnilla, a jack-up oil rig in the North Sea, just as she had thought.

The oil industry's propaganda proclaimed extended vacations, huge benefits, shared camaraderie on the job. Most vessels included gyms, hair salons, pubs, even massage therapy on board. Her own research into Karnilla, however, showed an aging rig with deplorable conditions and 14-hour days.

Perfect. She nodded with satisfaction and threw back the last of the vodka in her glass. There was nothing that would suit her better than slaving away physically and hunting up the leads on the case – it would all keep her from thinking too much.

And just that line of reasoning brought unwanted images flickering in front of her like an old slideshow: black hair, pale skin, ceiling mirrors, a scar in the shape of Perthro. A mystery.

_A mystery,_  she repeated to herself. Did that scar even exist anymore? Was it erased through magic, dissolved into perfect flesh so the next lover would never know it had been there at all? Because there  _would_  be a new lover – that much was certain. Loki, the ruler and protector of the nine realms, would hardly suffer solitude for long; the candidates to succeed her as his next inamorata were literally lined up at his door.

_So, yeah._  Hard work would be perfect, and perhaps after a long, exhausting shift as watchstander on Karnilla she would be able to sleep without dreaming too much, at any rate.

Disgusted with herself, Natasha returned to memorizing the file. Karnilla seemed legal enough, under chartered bond for a small Mexican oil company. That detail made the hair on the back of her neck prickle – if it was working for an oil business in Mexico, why was the rig in the North Sea and not the Gulf?

Yes, her instincts told her something was up.

* * *

Along with several lugubrious Turks who spoke little English, Natasha was helicoptered out to the rig. Karnilla was already jacked up, towering over the waves on four legs like an immense Tinker toy.

The man strapped into the seat beside Natasha grunted and poked her with one thick forefinger. His face was creased and permanently dirty, probably from the job, and when he turned to speak she saw he had a long, thick scar digging deep into his hairline. It made him look like the cartoon version of a typical villain. "Too high," he said, jerking his chin in the direction of Karnilla.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sea. Too deep. Rig too high. You watchstander?" His gaze was hooded with lack of interest.

Although crudely put, the scarred man's words were clear. The company that owned the rig had overextended Karnilla's capacity in the depth of the North Sea; part of her job would be to keep a lookout and make certain the rig didn't overbalance. Systemic checks and crosschecks were in place – or at least they were if they were fully functional – and would adjust for tidal disturbances. However, a huge storm could throw the entire place out of whack; her job was to make certain that didn't happen.

Natasha nodded. "Hard," he commented.

"Yeah, whatever."

His response was another grunt.

* * *

As one of three women on the rig, Natasha was granted her own room with a tiny attached shower. The quarters were mainly taken up with the single bed, although there were drawers in one wall and a pullout surface for writing.

She ignored all the furnishings and immediately went to work, finding the hidden cameras and moving them. One was on a timer and therefore easy to adjust; she simply had to wait until it clicked off and reconfigure its view to the side of the room near the door. The other was more difficult, since it was on 24/7. Natasha got around that by approaching from the back and making a series of infinitesimal changes until it also showed nothing but one corner of the bed and the view near the door.

Those manning the cameras would think they had an unobstructed view of her room. Natasha would make certain to be in full view ninety percent of the time, but the remaining two and a half hours would be completely private. She would have to space it out but knew how to do it: already a pre-composed schedule of camera-ready moments interspersed with private work time mapped itself out in her mind.

That done, Natasha put away her belongings. She had packed for warmth, with long underwear and extra-thick socks. Her zippered gym bag also held utilitarian pajamas, simple toiletries, one spare pair of boots.

No weapons were allowed on board Karnilla, so Natasha had arrived without her guns. The gold loop on her necklace was a disc-charge, she had an enamel knife strapped to her thigh, and the seemingly tatty belt on her jeans held a retractable Widow's Line without the grappling hooks. She would have to rely on her own strength, flexibility, and smarts for the rest.

Sewn into the lining of her coat was a slim notebook - a plain copybook she bought in Heathrow for a few pounds, not the one bound in leather Loki had given her. Out of the range of the cameras, she got it out and wrote her first entry in code. It went behind a panel near her bed; she could retrieve it in her few moments of privacy.

A look at her watch showed there were two hours before her next shift. Natasha lay down, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about Loki or Asgard.

* * *

Her first few shifts were with Sergil, the Turk with the scar who spoke to her on the helicopter. Despite his villainous appearance and blunt manner, he was pleasant and respectful enough, and after a while they bypassed the language barrier. Sergil retrieved crumpled pictures of his wife and daughters from his wallet and showed them off; she confessed to a recent break-up.

"No man now?" he asked with one of his characteristic grunts.

"No. No man." Natasha offered no more information, and he didn't ask. It made her like him, and the time went quickly enough when she was paired with Sergil. They had to watch the deck of the Karnilla closely and react instantly when the rig unbalanced by more than a third of a degree; the tedious job forced an ongoing conversation that she eventually began to find pleasant.

A mechanics crew was supposed to spring into action and retool the jacked-up legs of the rig when an overbalance happened, usually at least twice a shift. Once there was no response from the service workers when they called in a seventeenth of one degree shift. Sergil slammed down the phone, cursed, and grabbed a metal box with a handle; he motioned to Natasha and climbed out of their watch station with her out onto the deck. There they spent a hairy twenty minutes fiddling with a slipped bolt on one leg of Karnilla, while her fingers quickly froze in the icy rain. The waves roared far below, and the jacked rig swayed from the buffets of the wind. It was like being on the back of a metal spider with four legs.

Back inside, Sergil fetched them both cups of coffee to warm up. Natasha nursed the Styrofoam cup in her hands and listened idly as he sang a tune in a language she didn't understand.

* * *

In contrast, her other shifts were hell. Agnija, a young Serbian woman with a foul mouth and a penchant for stealing, considered Natasha a personal threat and kept up a continuous stream of squalid gossip, complaints, and vicious insults. When the girl offered a particularly nasty dig and an attempt on her gold chain, Natasha had to give her a black eye to warn her off. After that, Agnija sulked in silence and refused to do any work at all. Even when they had to hoist a jack manually, Natasha was forced to go out on the deck and grapple with the toolbox on her own.

Rostislav, her other coworker, had roaming hands and a tongue continually poking out of his mouth like a pink slug. Young, with slicked back hair and a cheap blue leather jacket, he kept his gaze firmly on Natasha's breasts. She almost preferred Agnija, since the girl's move had let Natasha establish a pecking order with the agent firmly on top. Rostislav, however, skulked just on the borders of indecency like a shadow on the edge of her vision.

When they had to go outside and do a manual balance fix, Rostislav took the chance to hold her arm, slide his knee next to her shin, finger her waist. When she complained he laughed with a high-pitched giggle and told her he was just trying to keep her safe.

Natasha came close to punching him that time.

Worst of all were the nights. As exhausted as she was, sleep eluded her while she tossed and turned; the palace in Asgard wavering in the back of her mind like a lovely mirage. Usually she got up and did some yoga stretching in full view of the cameras to try and relax; in her precious private time she drew a slowly-growing sketch of Karnilla's layout.

Because something was odd about the rig. Most jack-ups had some sort of entrance to the interior, where sensitive machinery was kept and the managers slept in relative luxury. Karnilla, however, seemed to be composed of a outer ring of quarters and watchdecks with no sign of drilling or seabed monitors. Natasha wanted to find out what lay in the center, but there seemed to be no way to get inside.

* * *

Sergil handed her a cup of coffee and grunted when she thanked him. As Agnija left, the Turk's eyes followed the woman and he emitted one word: "Shit."

"Sorry?" Natasha felt a spark of something like humor, the first since she had been ejected from Loki's palace.

"Her. Shit. She – shit."

"She's a shit?"

"Yes, yes – that is what I say."

"Well, I gotta agree with you there." Natasha took a long sip of the coffee. She was slowly discovering that Sergil was hard-working, respectful, and strong. He seized every opportunity to talk about his three daughters and a wife of twenty years. She admired the way he worked long days and spent weeks away from his family to try and give them a better life.

Furthermore, calling Agnija a shit was a major point in his favor.

"She and Rostislav," Sergil added. He made a circle with one hand, thrust a finger through it several times, winked.

"Really?" Natasha couldn't help smiling. If Agnija and Rostislav were fucking each other, it would remove a few headaches – maybe the female would stop being such a bitch and he would keep his hands in the pockets of that hideous blue leather jacket.

"No. Agnija and Rostislav – worse. Together, worse."

* * *

She began to see what Sergil meant after a few shifts. Agnija and her new boyfriend seemed to take annoying Natasha as a leisure activity. Life on the rig was boring and the watchstander jobs incredibly tedious; the new couple obviously entertained themselves by needling the agent as much as possible. Natasha had to punch Agnija again and came close to stabbing Rostislav in his ballsack with her enamel knife.

Still, the op was proceeding well. Her suspicion about the interior of the ship became clearer; every detecting sense told her it was important to find a way to the center.

The other workers on the rig – managers, drillers, mechanics, controllers, and the sole medic – were all dull, quiet, almost stupid, further setting off Natasha's suspicions. Life on most oilrigs was bustling, quick, and the atmosphere utterly professional. The employees were intelligent and dedicated, the tech advanced.

But Karnilla was like a dark copy of the petroleum business, filled with stupidity. It all reminded her of something, and as she wrote out plans and sketches in her notebook during her private time, Natasha realized what it was.

The rig reminded her of Dr. Holmes' asylum. The place was as rundown, the workers just as stupid.

Yes, she was on something like the jacked rig version of the hospital –  _and_  she was in there alone. If things went wrong on Karnilla, Loki wouldn't arrive to save her.

She shook her head, muttered to herself she could handle it. She was the Black Widow, and she preferred working alone.

* * *

Sergil arrived at the end of Natasha's graveyard shift. She gave him a friendly punch on his shoulder to say goodnight and left the watch stand deck, so tired the corridor swam in her vision.

The neon lights overhead flickered overhead. She decided she could take a few minutes to pretend to lose her way, to look once more for a way into Karnilla's core.

The staff quarters all lay on the outer ring to her left. The inner side on the right was blank metal, a featureless expanse of gleaming chrome. That was wrong too – everything was old and rundown, but the chrome seemed new and retrofitted to the archaic rig.

Natasha traversed the squared-off ring as she had dozens of times. After half an hour she stopped and regarded her reflection in the chrome – white-faced from exhaustion, cheeks pale and pinched.

A sudden recollection of her and Loki looking into the mirror together in the safe house floated, unbidden, to her mind.  _We could be twins,_  he had told her.

She remembered the exact inflection, the deep chocolate of his voice, his pain mirrored in her own expression. The thought that it was all nothing but a memory overwhelmed her, and she had to put a hand on the wall to keep herself upright.

It was then Natasha felt the way inside. Under her fingers there was a very slight depression in the wall, running in a regular line bisecting the wall vertically. Probably a code or eyescan would make the hidden door slide back and get her into the core.

Forgetting Loki, Asgard, and everything except her mission, Natasha knelt to retie the laces of one boot. She memorized the location before walking back in the direction of her quarters without a backwards look.

There were twenty minutes of camera time left on her self-imposed privacy schedule before she could remove her copybook from the panel behind her bed and add what she had found to her sketches. She wanted to get inside that core - and she had an idea how to find the code.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - I've taken a lot of liberties with the oil rig business here and morphed the jack-rig into the type of vessel I needed in the story. For that and for any other errors, I apologize.


	5. Code

" _What strange phenomena we find in a great city; all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters."_ _\- Charles Baudelaire_

* * *

"What do you think of the managers on the rig?" Natasha gave Sergil a cup of coffee, black with plenty of sugar.

"Shit."

Hiding her satisfaction, she nodded. "Do they all work in the main office?" The shift managers had a room slightly larger than the watchstanders' deck where employee files and Karnilla's logs were kept.

He grunted, which she took to mean a 'Yes'.

"Why don't you like them?"

"Job sucks; they do nothing. Sometimes not even in office."

She counted to thirty before going to fetch two cups of coffee. After a few sips she asked, "Why weren't they in the office?

"Whiskey." Sergil hawked deeply and spat out of the open door to show his disdain for the shift supervisors. The gob of stuff was whisked away in the wind as the deck windows shuddered under the force of a gathering storm. "They drink whiskey, no more work."

_Perfect._  The clock showed it was nearly the end of their shift. Natasha had a hip flask filled with vodka in her suitcase; later she could put it to good use.

* * *

Once the single manager on midnight duty found the vodka on the desk where Natasha left it, he tilted the bottle and drank the contents on the spot. When she returned twenty minutes later the man was asleep with his head pillowed on his arms.

Moving quickly, Natasha disabled the ceiling cam and hacked into the computer to search through the files. She tried not to sigh for Loki's magic, but after a bit of searching she found a list of employees with dates of hire.

The first on record was a Lushton, S. The agent's ears pricked up. Loki had said something about a Sylvie Lushton in context with Amora. Was she the third female on the rig?

Natasha was about to start another line of hacks and research when she noticed the manager had a set of keys dripping from his side pocket. One key was obviously a master. If she filched it, he could hardly start a rig-wide investigation for the culprit – it would force him to confess he had been drinking on the job. Calmly she took it, warmed from contact with his thigh, off the ring and replaced the set in his pants. She slid the key onto her necklace with the disc, tucked it back inside her shirt, and clicked on another folder.

At that moment the rig jolted so suddenly she lost balance and nearly careened into the sleeping man. Natasha backed out of the computer and left the office just as the man began to snore himself awake.

Agnija and Rostislav were the shiftworkers on duty; Natasha waited for them to call the mechanics or go out and jack up the leg of the rig. Instead, there was another jolt as the rig settled further in the same direction.

Cursing both the interruption and the aging rig, Natasha turned and headed to the watchstanders' deck. Sergil, zipping up the fly of his pants and still wearing a pajama shirt, approached from the other direction. He burst into the deck; close on his heels, Natasha found Agnija and Rostislav cowering in one corner.

"Did you call the mechanics?" she demanded.

"No answer." Agnija swept away a few tears from her cheeks. "We call! Waves very bad! Wind worse! Rig slides one full degree already!"

"Well, then you have to go and fix the damn thing!" Natasha was incensed; she couldn't believe she had to tell the two of them how to do their job.

"Storm is bad, very bad," Rostislav repeated.

"Still need to do," Sergil sucked his teeth and stabbed a thick index finger at Rostislav. "When manager hears of this, you lose jobs." He added a few Shits and Fucks, felt for his toolbox, and beckoned to Natasha.

"You motherfucking owe us," she shot at Rostislav before following the Turk out into the storm.

Outside, the gale felt like a wind tunnel. Sergil and Natasha battled their way through to the shaky jack; as they got close the rig shuddered in the wind.

He turned and handed her a Klein belt; she shouted for him to take it, but Sergil shook his head decisively and helped her strap it on. "At least let  _me_  be the one to climb down!" she screamed in his ear.

The blast of wind seemed to whip her voice away. Sergil was already heading down onto the leg joist, a heavy spanner held in his thick fingers.

Natasha lay on her front and felt for another wrench so she could work with him to halve the time outside on the deck. The tools were slick with ice and water, and another jolt from the rig slid the heavy toolbox into her shoulder with a crash. Swearing steadily, Natasha forced the wrench around one loose bolt and began to tighten it as Sergil worked on the other side.

Below the waves surged, although they were so high up the water under them looked like a wrinkled sheet. Visibility was nil and getting worse as the storm whipped itself into a frenzy.

With a final burst of curses and threats, Natasha got the wrench to hold and began to turn the thing; Sergil seemed to be getting close as well. "I'm almost there!" she yelled. He shouted something back, probably another  _Shit._

As she laughed with him, Natasha saw the dark figures rear up out of the dark. One foot sent the toolbox flying off the rig; another kick landed in Sergil's stomach. She scrabbled forward, trying to catch him; it was at that moment she caught the flash of metal.

Agnija, with a jackknife in her hand.

The blade came down not on Natasha's flesh but the Klein belt holding her onto the deck. She could have still held on and caught Sergil as well, hauled them both up onto the deck and kicked Agnija's skinny ass, but the rig tilted once more just as Rostislav kicked Sergil for the second time.

Both her and Sergil flew off the edge of Karnilla, flying with arms and legs spread. There was a moment to wonder what the fuck had just happened before they plunged into water icy enough to wipe her thoughts in an instant. Her body temperature plummeted, and before her serum could compensate she lost her hold on Sergil's forearm.

A confused time of bubbling cold and flailing panic followed. Natasha popped to the surface, gasping with shock and anger. "Hey!" she shouted. "Hey!"

Her soaked clothes and boots pulled her under; she fought to get free of them. And just as she was about to go down again, something caught her.

A hand, warm and strong.

One tug so sudden she thought her shoulder would pop out of its socket.

Landing on a hard surface with a fishy slap.

Jittering with cold so intense she felt she was being electrified, as she shivered into darkness and no more thoughts at all.

* * *

Natasha awoke in a bed and became aware of several things at once: she was warm, she was alive, and she was entirely naked. She sat up in a wide bed and looked around; certainly she was no longer on board Karnilla.

There were several warm eiderdowns on the mattress; she pulled one off, wrapped it around her, and stood up. "Hello?" she called.

A door opened and someone tall with pale skin and long dark hair walked through.

For a moment her heart stuttered. "Who the hell is it?" she asked. Quickly she gathered the quilt closer as she looked up with desperation at the slender height and careless elegance in the shadows. And as the figure moved forward she realized who it was. "You!"

Sif frowned. "You should not be out of bed – oof!"

Natasha, ignoring the warrior's pronouncement, bounced out of the covers enveloped her in a hug. "Oh, my goodness! Where did you come from? Oh, my gosh. Wow, you smell great."

Sif carried the scent of Asgard, clean and smoky with an undercurrent of pine and mystery. "Natasha, get back to bed this instant." There was a smile in her voice as she said it.

"I will. Just – just give me a minute." After the weeks of deprivation and the boring, degrading job, Natasha wanted to hold onto Sif and remind herself that Asgard did indeed exist, that somewhere there was a Bifrost and a palace where warriors waged battle with spears on horseback. She nestled her face in the crook of Sif's neck and breathed the warmth of her skin.

"Natasha, you must…"

"Sergil." Natasha thrust Sif back to look in her face. "An older man I work with - has a long scar down his face. Did you find him? He fell with me. Is he in the room next door?" She looked around; they seemed to be in a hotel.

"The man was already dead when I found you. I could do nothing for him."

The agent felt her face register shock and she stepped away from Sif. Her eiderdown slipped and she hitched it up. "Sorry. Damn, I can't believe he didn't survive. Had a family, too. Three daughters. Wife."

Sif grimaced, put an arm around Natasha's shoulders, and wheeled her around. "Bed," she insisted, and gave a hard push.

"Right." Natasha stumbled forward, hit the mattress, and crawled under the blankets once more.

* * *

The smell of food woke her the second time; out of the corner of her eye she Sif came in with a tray of steaming bowls and plates. Natasha sat up, her stomach contracting with hunger.

"I brought you some garments." Sif tried to tuck the blankets around Natasha's breasts, but the agent ignored her.

"Oh, my God – stew. Oh, my God – real bread. And wine! You're a lifesaver." She chewed and swallowed, watched by Sif, and at last with her hunger blunted she gulped down the rest of the wine and held the glass to her cheek. "I'm going to find his wife, you know. Send her a letter, maybe money if she'll let me. That whole thing just sucks. The two idiots on the rig killed him – can you believe it? He was a good man, and he got killed for it."

Sif handed her a sweatshirt, cheap but clean, and a pair of yoga pants. "It has been my experience the best of us always run the closest to death – perhaps they are most beloved by all beings including the shades of the next world."

Natasha hugged the clothes to her chest and regarded the warrior. Sif was dressed with Midgardian style in a simple white shirt and jeans; somehow she managed to make the clothes look like designer fare any fashion model would kill to have in her closet. "Why are you here?"

"My brother alerted me that you were in grave danger. He said my interference was necessary or we could lose – a lot."

"A lot," Natasha repeated softly. She leaned forward to put her hand on Sif's arm. "Certainly I have never been happier to see anyone than when you appeared."

Sif looked away, casually removed her arm. "You should bathe," she commented.

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, I probably stink like the North Sea. Sorry. Shower's in there?"

* * *

When she came out of the bathroom, her head buzzed with plans to help Sergil's family. "Am I crazy?" Natasha rubbed her hair with one of the rough towels provided by the hotel. "I just really liked the guy. Of course this kind of thing happens during a case, but he was really respectful – I guess you might compare him to a good soldier. Steady, dependable, you know? And I want…" She stopped.

Sif still sat on the bed, motionless. Her eyes held Natasha's in a burning gaze.

The agent had seen that look before. The glint in the eyes. The flushed marks on the cheekbones. A tremor in Sif's throat as she swallowed.

Natasha didn't move for a moment, and Sif looked away. "I fought alongside such a soldier once. Petr, his name was. He was loud and crude, but I could always depend on him to follow orders to the letter. In the end he was slain by an errant spear when I ordered the troops into Svartelheim. When the quest was complete I found his wife and gave her enough money to buy a farm." The warrior stopped, and the red in her cheeks grew darker.

Cautiously Natasha sat next to Sif. "How were things in Asgard when you left?"

"Bad, and steadily growing worse. Amora wormed her way into Loki's good graces - just as I predicted - and he does not seem to care what happens in the realm any longer. I see more and more of the evil powder within the palace. Some of the guards have grown outright insolent. The courtiers rut together in broad daylight, right in the halls where my queen once walked."

"Amora," Natasha sighed. "Yes, I should have known." A question hovered on her lips, but she didn't ask it.

Sif turned and looked at her. "Will you ever return?"

"I was banned from the realm after I refused him."

"Why did you say no?"

"Because I am an agent, first and foremost, not a queen. Just as you are a warrior. Can you understand?"

"But my queen  _was_  a warrior," Sif said softly. "No one could wield a sword in battle like Frigga – she was a joy to watch in action."

Gently Natasha laid her fingers over Sif's arm. Her skin was firm and cool, and the smell of Asgard still hung in the air. "I wish I could have met her."

"She would have liked you, I think."

The gaze between them was so direct Natasha forgot to answer; it seemed they were still talking but without words. Without allowing herself to think, she rose and turned off the lights.

"What are you doing?" Sif demanded.

"Shh." Natasha returned to the bed, leaned forward, and pressed a firm kiss on Sif's lips.

"Your lover. You miss him," Sif whispered.

"No," Natasha interrupted. "This has nothing to do with anyone except you and me." She slid her arms around Sif's neck and deepened the kiss, and when she tasted the warrior's tongue she felt the room whirl around her.

"Gods, you are delicious," Sif murmured.

That was all it took. Natasha cast herself into Sif's arms, wound one leg around her waist, let the towel pool at her hips. And when she felt those fingers, hardened from battle with calluses from holding broadsword and shield, slide over one breast and V her nipple, a low moan erupted from her throat. "I want you," Natasha said shamelessly. "I want you, Sif, in my bed tonight. If you ask me to stop I will, right now, but it would make me really happy if I could make love to you."

Sif made no answer beyond a harsh growl as she pushed Natasha back onto the bed. Her hand slipped down the agent's stomach, smoothing over hipbones and between her legs, to find a little well of warmed honey already sticky and dripping for the touch between them. "Urd's belly, you are wet as the seven seas!" Sif gasped. "You make me wish I had a prick so I could plunge inside you."

Natasha grabbed her hand and pulled it to her core. "No prick necessary," she whimpered. "Oh, just touch me. And let me touch you."

The pressure was just right. If Loki had been the master of tonguing her down there, Sif knew exactly how to stroke and pet, flicking and twisting, softly and then firmly. Natasha couldn't help shivering when she felt how elegant the warrior's slit was, and inside just as hot and sopping as Natasha felt.

Within the dark room they edged each other, stroking the small buds until the orgasm was close and backing off with a shudder, giving way to long kisses so they could prolong the delicious feeling. Natasha discovered Sif loved to be bitten under her breasts; the warrior found the spot behind her earlobes that drove her crazy. And at last when they could bear it no longer, Sif climbed on top, pulled up Natasha's knee, and thrust between her legs until they both released with a prolonged shout of victory.

* * *

After Sif propped her head on one fist. "What of Loki?" The question was as direct as the kiss that followed it.

"I still think about him." Natasha decided to be completely honest; Sif's bravery and dedication demanded it. "A lot. He is in my head, and I don't know how to get him out."

"I understand, believe me. Perhaps I, too, have someone inside my head night and day, to the point where a sword's point is sweet mercy from the constant ache."

"Yes, that's a damn good way of putting it."

"You should rest." Sif moved off the bed, but Natasha stretched to grasp her wrist.

"Please stay," she begged. "I want to sleep with you. I want to be next to you all night."

* * *

They talked together for hours, excited by the new passion between them. Natasha told Sif about the mission and how she had to return to the oil rig. Sif gave several excellent suggestions for getting back up on the deck unseen. Interspersed with kisses and more, when Natasha licked Sif's clit, as Sif drove her fingers into Natasha's quivering center, their plan grew. And at the final lick, as Natasha drove Sif into an orgasm that made her arch back and buck her hips in a wild rhythm, the warrior maiden panted something that sounded like an admission, or a surrender.

"Natasha," she whispered. "Natasha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, obviously, is where I start to add to the tags.


	6. The Core of Karnilla

_“Oh, Creator! Can monsters exist in the sight of him who alone knows how they were invented, how they invented themselves, and how they might not have invented themselves?” - Charles Baudelaire_

* * *

"I have to get back inside." Natasha sat more on Sif's chair than her own, looking over a series of plans they had devised together and occasionally pressing a kiss onto the warrior's neck.

"Agreed, but once in this rig named Karnilla we would need some sort of device to discover the code for the interior you discovered. We also need a way into the other rooms – 'twill be a large task." Sif pointed to the mysterious center on the map drawn up from memory, all rooms blocked in and neatly labeled, with only the core still a blank.

Natasha felt for her chain and waved the master key. "Behold. We're getting in those rooms, no problem. Now if we only had some money to buy weapons, supplies, hire a boat – all that good stuff. I guess I could hack my way into a local bank, or rip off a couple of wallets, but that will take more time than we can afford."

Sif winked, felt for the belt at her waist, and produced a small bag. She upended it, and a flurry of gold coins, silver nuggets, and sparkling gems spilled out onto the table. "Behold yourself."

* * *

Dressed in black from head to toe, Natasha and Sif waited until nightfall before attempting the return journey to Karnilla. The agent found Kevlar vests for them – serviceable, although she sighed for her catsuit. She wanted to return to her apartment and spend a week doing workouts in the familiar uniform that functioned as her second skin as soon as the rig-slash-asylum case was closed - after she took care of Sergil's family, of course.

The rig appeared in the distance; even from that faraway point in their tiny boat Natasha could see a distinct slant in the way it soared above the waves. She pointed it out to Sif, who had already grasped the physics and mechanics behind the watchstander's job and Karnilla. "In a way it's good," Natasha murmured as Sif killed the motor. "Probably most of the workers have been evacuated…"

"Less bodies to clear," Sif grinned.

Her battle spirit was almost visible, vibrating in her bones and her long, dark hair – she was an exciting, electric Valkyrie. The two women shared a smile, silently promising each other a clean mission with a prolonged, sensual aftermath.

* * *

The climb up the leg joists of the rig was easy enough once they breached the laughable security system. Again Natasha blessed the stupidity of the rig's design and those who seemed to be in charge as she snipped the simple wires of the alarms, repeated every ten feet.

And when they reached the deck, there was no watchstander on duty. Although it was dark, the agent still expected night vision scans and was braced for an onslaught of guards or even Rostislav and his ridiculous leather jacket. However, the entire rig was dark and still as a morgue.

Motioning for Sif to follow, Natasha slipped inside the corridor. There the neon still flickered, casting a greenish glow and washing their skin of color. They bypassed her old quarters and tried a few doors to rooms she had never entered; the master key on her chain opened them easily.

One was obviously Agnija's room, filled with selfies and some purloined goods from other workers. A heap of gossip magazines languished in one corner.

"Nothing there." Natasha closed the door firmly.

The next room seemed more likely. There was a distinct feminine presence, with plain cotton bikini underwear in the drawers and a travel blow-dryer. "Perhaps it is the unseen Sylvie Lushton's room?" Sif asked.

"Could be. You take that side and I'll search her bags." Natasha began to rummage through a soft carry-on and a messenger bag with the logo of an anonymous online company on the side.

They couldn't detect any sounds from the outside as they searched; inside the tiny berth it was so silent Natasha could hear the ticking of a small wristwatch on the bedside table until she pulled off the mattress and started to empty the drawers of clothes and toiletries.

Just as she was about to give up and call off the search, Sif cleared her throat and held up a flat disc pulled from a purse hanging on the back of the lone chair in the cabin. "This is Asgardian in origin."

"Do you know what it is?" Natasha kept the excitement out of her voice. It seemed Loki's hypothetical tie-in with his realm had materialized after all.

"It is used as an opening device for a hidden door – Natasha! What is it?"

The agent dropped the messenger bag and seized Sif by one elbow. "I know exactly where to put it to use."

* * *

The disc adhered to the door outline Natasha had found before on the mirrored wall with a soft click. Sif turned the button slowly, and at one point the circle flashed silver. "There," she said with satisfaction and removed the disc to stow in the bag on her belt.

Hissing, the door outline slid open. Natasha pulled out a small flashlight and looked inside – the entire space lay in complete darkness. The tiny beam of light showed a huge room, cordoned off in several sections: one seemed to be used for production of some kind, with bags of raw ingredients and a line of extruders. Another section seemed to hold files and records as well as a massive computer, now totally shutdown. And the third –

"It is a gateway of some sort," Sif whispered. An empty doorframe carved of stone with strange symbols around the outside stood in the center of the space.

"To where?"

Sif approached the stone and ran her hands over the symbols; Natasha focused the beam on them so the warrior could see. At length Sif rose and turned to Natasha. "I believe it goes right into the heart of Asgard, if not the palace itself, although Loki would know better than I. These marks seem to indicate a flexible structure, allowing for different destinations - but as I say, he would be able to tell. I was never any good at runic magic."

"This place is filled with dangers you cannot comprehend," a toneless voice stated behind them.

Natasha whirled and trained the light on the speaker. A girl with masses of blond hair braided at the sides stood there, not moving. "Sylvie?"

"Sylvie was my name once. Now I have another, but what it is I forget." Her voice was strange – American in accent but filled with portent, as though she was unsure of who or what she was.

"This is strong, dark magic," Sif muttered. "Are you from this realm?"

"This shadow flits between the realms and has no home. My former life is no more. I was strong, but lately illness claims my body. The fits grow stronger and more frequent each day."

Unsure of whether to strike or not, Natasha ran the light over 'Sylvie's' body. The girl was dressed in a strange costume, with high green boots and a mini skirt. "This just in," the agent said. "It's cold as hell outside. Why don't you wear…"

Sylvie suddenly shook as though she were being possessed by a djinn. The girl vibrated, and a loud series of grunts was forced out of her throat. Natasha kept one hand on her Glock, purchased that morning, and she saw Sif raise her machete – the closest thing to a sword they had been able to find on the mainland. "Time to die," Sylvie intoned.

Natasha yanked the chain from her neck, threw it at the blond girl, and the disc-charge exploded on contact. Sif and Natasha were flung back by the forceful blow, but when the smoke cleared the room was empty.

* * *

"None of this makes sense," Sif complained. Natasha had given her a spare camera and explained how to work it; the lens clicked as they both catalogued the contents of the room.

"Don't you think a magic doorway and a production line tell at least part of a story?" Natasha examined the marks. "Think about what has been happening in your realm – the powder, the addiction, the downfall of the Aesir. I think the opiate was being made here and sent through the gateway to Asgard. Poor Sylvie was nothing more than a pawn, perhaps to oversee the manufacture of the powder. Furthermore, I don't believe it's too difficult to figure out who's behind it all."

Sif growled and tossed the camera to Natasha. "Enough of this – it is time to return to Asgard and give Amora a taste of my steel."

She was brave, Natasha thought, and honorable. Sif wore strength like a lovely dress, displaying her chivalry with every line of her body. And as she watched the lovely warrior swing the machete, prepared to take on any enemy, the worm of an idea emerged. It wriggled through her mind, tickling her with possibilities.

"Hang on just a second before you skewer anyone," Natasha said slowly. "Sif, do you despise what has happened on Asgard?"

"By the warts on Baldur's buttocks, yes! and well you know it. I have already explained how I see former friends lying in their own puke right where Frigga used to grace the halls of Asgard beside the AllFather, intent on protecting the realms. There is not much protection going on now. But what else could we expect, with such a king?" Sif went on for several minutes in that vein, excoriating Loki before she stopped with a deep scowl.

"So, let's say you were on the throne. And let's also say, for argument's sake, you were in Queen Frigga's position. What would you do to bring Asgard back to its former glory?" Natasha sat on the base of the stone gate and propped her chin on one fist, fixing her gaze on Sif's face.

"Increase the army, of course! But it would be a safeguard, not a strike. I would continue the process of ending the wars – I will admit Loki has attempted to bring most of the strife to a close – and use our garrisons as builders for all realms. The column is only as strong as its weakest link."

"By column you mean Yggdrasil?"

"Yes, of course." Sif, finding such an interested audience, warmed to her tale. "I would rid Asgard of the powdered scourge in its underbelly once and for all. I would rebuild and clean the palace from top to bottom and call for a complete overhaul of morals. Amora would be sent back to the foul place from whence she came – Helheim, I would conjecture. And of course I have ideas for defending the kingdom and the palace: new weaponry and different layouts for the knights."

She squatted next to Natasha to draw some of her plans in the dust on the floor, but the agent interrupted her. "Suppose I told you there was a way we could make all of that happen? I've seen you at council, Sif, and it made me furious when your ideas were overlooked by those self-important, empty-headed delegates. I knew then you could think circles around them, and yet you were always ignored. Think of it – your decrees could become law. We could improvise a plan and work together, perhaps revisit the idea of trade between our realms once Asgard is settled. What would you say to that?"

There was a loud snort from the elegant beauty at her side. "I would say you are out of your head. 'Tis a wonderful vision, nothing more – all the brighter for its impossible nature."

"I can make it happen." Natasha sprang up, filled with soaring triumph. "You'll have to hear me out first, though, and promise not to stab me while I explain it. And," she added, "you'll have to get us both into Asgard."

Sif rose to stand in front of her and put her hands out; she smiled as Natasha took them and stood on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. "If someone else said this to me, I would tell them they had lost their wits. But of all those in the realms – anyone other than Thor or the Warriors Three, that is – I trust you. Tell me what it is we must do."


	7. Return to Asgard

_A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon lover! – Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

* * *

The stone gate within the core of Karnilla resisted all attempts to 'turn it on' no matter how much Natasha and Sif worked at it - touching the runes carved into the gray surface, searching for hidden controls. It stood, stubborn and unyielding, against their efforts to make it come to life and bring them into Loki's realm. At last the dark-haired warrior gave it up in disgust. "Let us remove ourselves from this flea-bitten armpit – I will have my brother transport us to Asgard in a moment when we reach a place of transport."

"Yes, seems that's the way to go. Let me just grab the file with Sergil's information from the manager's office and I'm right behind you."

* * *

In the darkened room she was able to use her master key and find a hard copy of Sergil's HR papers in a dusty file. Sif waited, her face growing darker as the seconds ticked past.

"Make haste," she said at last. "This place smells like death and I have the feeling it is cursed."

Natasha waved the papers in triumph. "Here we go. I'll just stash them in something waterproof first. Maybe they have a baggie or plastic wrap in here – holy shit!" The cabinet she found swung open, and Sif emitted a long stretch of curses as she clapped a hand over her nose.

Inside there were two objects, gray and green in color. Their eyes gazed, sightless, at past defeat and empty lives just over Natasha's shoulder.

Rostislav and Agnija, together forever.

While Natasha and Sif lay in the hotel bed making love, someone had beheaded the pair and stashed the spoils.

* * *

Sif and Natasha didn't stop until they reached the mainland. There they abandoned the boat and found a car rental beside a shabby hair salon; Sif thrust a sheaf of bills under the indignant woman's nose and added more money to the pile until she got a car.

"When we arrive in Asgard, what is the best plan of action?" Natasha asked once they were on the road. "I would confront Loki myself, but I'm hardly his favorite person at the moment."

"Not only that, but Amora holds him in the palm of her hand - she will make certain he is cordoned off to anyone from the outside. However, I have an idea. There are many warriors still loyal to me, and if we are careful I can create a diversion to draw him out of her clutches for a few minutes at least."

"Perfect. And do you know of a place where the three of us - you, me, and Loki - may speak in private? ?" Natasha shifted the difficult clutch and shot ahead of the car in front of them, resisting the urge to give its grumpy driver the finger.

Sif stared straight ahead. "I am sure you already know most of your plan is absolute nonsense - however, we will see if you can pry him out of the clutches of the enchantress. As for the first part – put it out of your mind or I will slit your throat."

Natasha stifled a grin and slid her hand over Sif's thigh; she loved it when the warrior threatened her. That fatal attraction to beauty and danger probably made her more like Loki than she wanted to admit.

Loki: her celestial twin.

* * *

After completing some of the more bloody cases in her portfolio, Natasha sometimes fell asleep and dreamed of Russia from the past – her country as it was at the birth of the U.S.S.R. In those tortured visions she saw the lines outside the shops of women in square raincoats and hand-knitted hats, holding the hands of children with resigned faces as they waited for hours in numbing cold for bread. The 'new' regime had promised collectivism and labour for all, but in reality those vows meant nothing more than the seizure of most of the farmlands for the subsequent construction of large factories. Food production decreased, illness increased as a result. The sight of young prostitutes shivering in thin shirts became standard. Vodka consumption skyrocketed. Men, once able-bodied farm workers, lay in their own urine while children next to them wailed from hunger.

It had been shocking but not unexpected. After all, regimes always had to bow to the final master - human greed.

In contrast, the degradation of Asgard was horrifying in such a shining, glorious place. Sif and Natasha walked through the gilded spires of the city, speechless as they watched people battle over tiny packets of the white powder. A young boy sat with a bowl between his legs, begging for food. Dogs, their hides covered with sores, ran through the streets. One man drooled into his graying beard, both hands shaking.

"Torv," Sif commented as she stopped in front of the sight. "I knew him when he was a stripling youth - Thor and I looked up to him. Often we all played together on the shores of Marmora."

Natasha felt for her friend's wrist and held it, feeling the vibration of fury and sadness under the skin. She could only imagine Sif's helpless rage as she watched the world and citizens she had defended for aeons descend into such madness. "I'll do what I can to help you..." she began.

Sif turned away from Torv, eyes bright with determination. "I  _will_ support your plan in its entirety, if you think 'twill serve," she announced. "Natasha, if the insane scheme you concocted is the only way to rescue my realm, it is time for me to do everything you say."

* * *

They were supposed to meet a few of Sif's most trusted soldiers in a tavern on the outskirts of the city. With dark scarves wound over their hair and faces, Natasha and Sif sat in a side table. Together they muttered the final steps of their scheme as they waited for the men to arrive.

"My men will start a fight on the steps of the palace and call for revolt. Once the AllFather is alerted they will beg for a few moments of audience with him." Sif took a long sip of ale, her eyes narrowing as she watched the door.

"Are you certain we can't just go ourselves and ask to see Loki? Maybe he'll talk to us – he can be almost sane and rational at times. If we tell him what we just saw - how the entire realm is sliding downhill - he might listen to you."

Sif shook her head. "No. Heimdall told me the AllFather is closeted with Amora and will see no one but her…"

The words were cut off as the doors flew open. A line of burly guards burst into the tavern, each carrying a long spear and dressed for war.

"Fenrir's balls, we have been betrayed. Natasha, prepare for a fight!" Sif flew out of her seat and launched herself at the first guard, knocked him down with one heavy punch, and managed to get his spear.

Natasha instantly launched out of her chair, using its back as leverage to propel her into a flying kick; it landed square on one fellow's chin. The blow would have taken down any mortal at once. The Asgard guards, however, were far stronger than humans and far more resistant to her blows; although she was also able to secure a spear from the man she fought, after a few moments of desperate battle she and Sif were overcome. The number of guards surrounding them was just too many.

"Good morrow, Lady Sif," one soldier drawled. His face split in a gold-toothed grin as he lifted one finger in a signal; another broad fellow bent to wind chains around their wrists and ankles.

"Let us go, Hugleikr." Sif struggled against her bonds. "We have an audience with the AllFather."

"In less than an hour," Natasha added, embroidering the lie. "He will have your heads if we aren't there."

"Will he now!" The guard chuckled, emitting a cloud of bad breath. "Funny we should receive direct orders from the palace to bring you to the dungeons then, innit?"

* * *

Thus shackled, they were led into the huge throne room. The pillars and ornate floor still lay in disrepair; Natasha saw several statues missing heads and a steady trickle of water sluicing down the marble wall in one corner.

Loki sat on the throne, attired in his old armor. Beside him stood Amora, her fingers resting lightly on his arm.

As they approached, something like his old, mischievous smile spread over his face. "Agent," he said. "I had hoped never to see you again in your short lifetime." Amora laughed as he stretched, wound one arm around her neck, and pulled her down for a deep kiss.

_Oh, for crying out loud._  She got the point – he had a new lover, just as she knew he would. It was hardly a shock. "AllFather," she began. "Please give me a few moments to speak to you in private."

Loki framed Amora's face with his long hands and spoke up into the bright face.The enchantress smiled into his eyes; Natasha could read every line of Amora's physique. The beauty was sure of herself, owning Loki body and soul at that moment. "Did you hear something, my darling? A rather annoying sound, like the buzzing of bees? Perhaps we need some assistance." He twisted one hand and Natasha felt a silk scarf twist over her face, gag her completely. Sif, she saw, had the same binding her mouth.

"Do you have anything else to say for yourselves?" Loki continued. He detached himself from Amora, stalked down the steps of the throne, and circled Natasha as his voice intensified with anger. "Were you plotting against the realm, against my very rule? Well?"

Obviously he was in tyrant mode. He looked thinner and had dark circles under his eyes – much as he had appeared in Manhattan and on the Helicarrier the first time they spoke. Natasha contented herself with staring straight ahead since she couldn't reply; with a start of despair she realized she was actually  _concerned_  for his safety and happiness. The course he had chosen could only lead to disaster for him and everyone else in the palace. One being would emerge victorious, bringing more degradation as a result, and it would not be him.

"Take them away to separate rooms in the dungeons," he barked, turning his back on them. As Natasha was led off after Sif, she caught one final view of Loki and Amora. His hand moved on her breast, her arms slid luxuriously around his neck, as they ground into each other on the throne of Asgard.

* * *

The cell was bigger than the solitary hole in the asylum, Natasha noted with relief. There was a bed – small but comfortable and clean – and a bench as well as a table. Once she was locked in with a removable wall of what looked like interwoven gold magic, a jug of water and a loaf of bread were handed through the bars by Hugleikr. The guard with the gold teeth winked at her and walked off, whistling leisurely.

Naturally there were no chinks, no gaps in the cell. The gold mesh was as hard as a slab of marble. There were no windows, and the view showed only a stone corridor and other cells across from hers. They all lay empty.

Natasha sighed and wondered if she could dare hope for a change of heart.  _Heart?_  Her mind mocked her.  _Change?_  As far as Loki was concerned, she knew there would be no such thing.

She had just sat down to eat a piece of the loaf and wash it down with some water when she heard a series of knocks on the wall. Putting down the food, she bent and listened. The knocks were in a simple number code; Natasha nearly got it wrong until she remembered the Norse alphabet. It was then she was able to understand the message, spelling out one word.

S-I-F.

So the warrior was held next to her! Natasha felt a gust of relief. There was no way they could escape, at least not that she could see at the moment, but at least they could communicate.

Quickly she got on her knees and spelled out a response: THIS IS NATASHA.

I KNOW, came the answer.

IS THERE A WAY OUT? Natasha knocked the words and sat back, wondering if even Sif could manage it.

There was a pause. At last the answer came back, spare and defeated.

NO.


	8. Proposal

_"...here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered; happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat-pocket; portable ecstasies might be had corked up in a pint-bottle; and peace of mind could be sent down by the mail." -Thomas de Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium Eater_

* * *

In the asylum Natasha had been weakened by drugs and overpowered, but in the dungeon she was on top of her game. If Loki wanted to dance, she thought, he would be very surprised at the moves she would pull out of her ass.

And so she spent the day stretching, practicing her leaps and extended kicks, using the mattress as a punching bag. After a while a group of guards gathered each day to watch her exercise; Natasha cheerfully flipped them the bird and continued with her practice.

When she finished she stripped down to her waist and used the water in her drinking jug to rinse off to a chorus of the Asgardian version of wolf whistles. After several minutes of cold splashes a guard entered bearing a large ewer of warm water, what looked like soft soap in a dish, and a large towel. Natasha thanked him, took the items, and continued her bath.

A rap came from Sif's cell. YOU ARE DRIVING THEM INTO A FRENZY, she knocked.

GOOD. LET THEM HAVE A SHOW.

There was an exasperated silence before Sif responded: YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE.

Natasha laughed and placed her hand on the wall. Even with several inches of stone between them, the warrior's essence came through loud and clear.

* * *

She dressed, remade her bed, and tidied her damp hair as best she could. Turning her back on the guards, Natasha sat on the mattress facing away from the hallway. It was time.

With a long breath, she undid the snap of her jeans, pushed them down to her knees, and spread her palm over Kenaz. It still was there, red and impatient as ever - Loki's mark on her thigh. At first she felt nothing, but when she closed her eyes and concentrated, the familiar prickle of magic flowed through her muscles, already toned and limber from the workout.

The feeling of power was ecstatic. Her clit fluttered, and heat rolled through her belly and thighs. Release was so close she nearly gave into it, but she had the idea that to weaken and allow her body orgasmic relief would dissipate the magic flowing through her body. Instead she forced herself to build it up, hold the feeling until it died down, and repeat it. Again, and again.

It was the most delicious, excruciating thing she had ever done.

* * *

It took two more days. During that time Natasha was offered fresh clothes, a simple linen shift she gladly accepted. Like all clothes on Asgard it supported and revealed her body, both at once; even the long skirt didn't get in the way of her exercise once she kilted it up to her knees.

Her workouts increased in length and demand; she found she could use the walls to run up and vault backwards off the ceiling. That move earned her some murmurs and a round of hastily stifled applause from the guards.

Hugleikr, the soldier with gold teeth, also gave her more water and towels. She washed carefully, dabbing her thighs with a soft cloth; she didn't want to provoke the roaring sensuality building up inside. The magic flowing from Kenaz was starting to overwhelm her with its ticklish power to the point where any simple movement was an erotic ordeal, and for a moment she thought she might have over-thought the entire affair.

Sif rapped on the wall angrily. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT?

GET READY, Natasha knocked in answer, shuddering at the thrills playing up and down her legs. I THINK IT WILL BE TONIGHT.

* * *

The summons came several hours later. Hugleikr entered the cell and beckoned to Natasha to follow. She kept her expression blank as she followed him through the hall, up the stairs into the now-familiar palace. Studiously she ignored a couple going at it in an alcove; the man had the woman's gown to her waist and was prepared to loosen his breeches, right there in front of any passers-by.

"Why did you betray Sif?" she asked Hugleikr. Natasha wasn't angry with the man, simply curious.

The question electrified him. He glanced around and, for such a large guard, he gave off the stink of fear. "Silence!" he roared.

Natasha nodded, satisfied. He hadn't chosen the betrayal – it was forced upon him, and she thought she knew exactly who had done it.

* * *

Loki stood by the windows, facing away from the door to his chamber. Natasha experienced a frisson of déjà vu as she approached; the entire scene was reminiscent of her first visit to Asgard.

Quietly she stood motionless as Hugleikr was dismissed. The silence stretched after the door closed, leaving them alone together, and she clasped her hands behind her back. The next step was to wait, exulting in the power she held between her legs.

Like a djinn-powered whirlwind, Loki turned in a sweep of cape and armor, reached her with one stride, and grasped her throat. "You may stop your pathetic attempt to contact me with  _my own magic_ ," he snarled into her face. "It will not work."

"Begging your pardon, AllFather, but it already has."

He released her suddenly and turned away once more. "This is the last time we shall see each other. I will place an order to return you to Midgard, and Heimdall will never be able to bring you back to…"

"To plague you?" Natasha smiled and gestured at several large seats in front of a table, engraved with pictographs depicting a series of tortures inflicted on a complacent-looking maiden. "Why don't we sit down and discuss all of this?" Calmly she slid into one chair and balanced her chin on one forefinger.

Loki tilted his head with exasperation, a signature move that made her laugh. "There is nothing to discuss," he insisted. Still, he did balance himself on the very corner of the chair next to hers. "And if you have come to beg me for a repeat of my last offer, it is too late. I shall never ask you that question again."

"Thank heavens!" Natasha twinkled at him. "However, I do have an idea – a proposal of my own, you might say. In order for it to make sense I would like Sif to be here while I explain it to you."

At that his head jerked up and he looked into her eyes. "A proposal! What in the nine realms could you have to propose to…"

He was cut off as the large door to the chamber was flung open by in impetuous hand. Amora strode in, her lovely face filled with fury. "What are you doing in your chambers with  _her_?" she shouted.

Natasha stifled another laugh. The enchantress was wearing the Asgardian version of a catsuit; it appeared the recent fashion trend had run right through the palace. Casually she winked at Loki. "Yes, what  _are_  you doing with me?" she asked.

His voice gentle, Loki gestured to the door. "Give us some time. It will not be long."

The enchantress opened her mouth to respond, appeared to think better of it, and bowed her head in assent. She turned to depart, revealing her excellent figure as she left the chamber.

"I like her outfit," Natasha couldn't help saying.

Loki's mouth dropped open before his dimples appeared. "Agent, you have only a few moments left in Asgard. How shall you spend them?"

"Discussing my proposal, of course. Will you send for Sif?"

* * *

While they waited, Natasha brought up the search for Sylvie Lushton. "We found her, you know, thanks to your help," she said.

Loki hunched one shoulder in an uncaring gesture. She knew he was intrigued, however, and she described the jack-up rig and the stone gate within it before the doors opened once more and Sif burst in – a more formidable echo of Amora's entrance.

The warrior snatched her wrist from Hugleikr's hold and strode up to Loki. Before anyone could stop her she grasped the lapels of his jacket to haul him out of his chair. "How dare you imprison me," she fumed, "like some lowlife guttersnipe caught stealing buns!"

"It was the company you keep," he said in a silky voice. Hugleikr stepped forward, but Loki waved him away. "Leave us," he ordered.

Sif ignored the command. "That is laughable, coming from you. Bravo on the  _excellent_  job as AllFather, by the by. Have you seen the sights in Asgard? Never has this realm been brought so low in all the Odinsleeps I spent riding to cavalry!"

"Not my fault!" Loki snarled and doubled his fists. "There is a scourge on the land, and it has nothing to do with me!"

"You also have nothing to do with  _ridding_ us of the poison – it is your job as King." Sif tossed her dark curls away from her face. "By the Nine, Loki, you sit in here with your enchantress and her pet dog, hopping in and out of bed with more disheveled vermin than a fleabitten whore!"

"At least I am alive, Sif, which is more than I can say to you. Your life is spent polishing poltroons and counting cannonballs. When was the last time your heart beat next to another's in surrender? By the Gods, you are as frozen as Jotunheim – nay, more so."

Natasha, sitting back and considering the argument, felt a glow spread throughout her limbs. She had been right. There  _was_  passion between them – it had merely gone off-course throughout the ages. After several more rounds of insults from both combatants, she strolled to a cabinet where she knew wine was kept, fetched a bottle with several glasses, and put them on the table. She smiled as Sif went into a long diatribe describing Loki as a wart on Norðri's belly, and poured out three generous servings. Taking a long swig she rolled her eyes with pleasure – the vintage was perfection, beyond anything she had ever tasted on her planet.

"Rutting mongrel!" Sif shouted.

"Sexless statue!" he shot back.

"Oh, for heaven's sake – shut up, both of you." Natasha waved at the wine. "Sit down this instant and have a drink so we can talk instead of biting each other's heads off."

Sif and Loki froze. The warrior, with pink spots high on her cheekbones, sat at the table opposite Natasha. She lifted her glass and took a long swallow.

"Much as I would enjoy the company," Loki drawled, "I fear I have other plans."

"I said shut up and sit down," Natasha snapped. "I've been pleasant up to now, Loki, but you are testing my patience. That's right – have a drink. It will make what I have to say to you more palatable."

Loki's eyes narrowed. He resumed his perch, lifted the glass, and took a tiny sip. With one arm he gestured to Natasha to continue.

"Sif is correct. You're doing a shit job as AllFather. No, don't interrupt me just yet – I've got a lot more to say. The streets of the city look like Moscow during the worst of the wars, and the situation will simply downgrade from here. Do you want a revolt on your hands? Or a bout of plague? Insurrection, assassination?"

"Wouldn't you prefer a shining legacy, so when the bards tell your tale it is with praise?" Sif added.

"I cannot deny things have not gone as I had first hoped," Loki said stiffly. "However, if Natasha had accepted me when I offered for her none of this would have happened. In fact, you may blame it all on her."

Sif sprang up, waving her glass as thought to throw the contents over his head, but Natasha stopped her. "No need to spill wine all over the place. He can blame me if it makes him feel better – I don't give a crap. However, I  _do_  have an idea to solve all our problems. But you'll have to be open to it, Loki, and forget a great deal of history. Also, you must be willing to trust me and Sif."

A sad look came into his eyes. "I once did," he murmured. "But you assembled at the tavern, hoping to overthrow my rule. Tell me, Sif, were you planning to put Thor on the throne in my stead?"

"Nonsense." Natasha slammed her hand flat on the table. "That is nothing more than propaganda spread by those who want to take our position as your friends and spew their line of bullshit in your ear. And I think I know exactly who it is. Amora gives you reason to suspect us for the  _very thing_  she herself is planning, right? And you already know it! But I don't want to talk about her."

"Stop hedging," Loki declared. A dangerous light kindled in his eyes. "By the by, Agent, your little experiment with my magic has affected you just as much as it did me, and we both are aware of it. Tell me your idea, and you may remove yourself from my presence as soon as you are done, still aching for my touch."

She measured him with her look, just long enough to show she caught his slip - the admission of his own desire for her. "Okay, but let me just say that you tend to align yourself with the wrong people – and that's a direct quote, by the way. From  _you."_

"Really!" Sif said under her breath. "I must say that is interesting."

"I suppose I could beat it out of you but I have not the energy." Loki leaned back with his glass in one hand, put his boots up on the table, and tossed the rest of the wine down his throat. He threw the goblet onto the floor, where it shattered. "This is your last chance, Agent, before I close all passages to my realm from your world for good. As for trade between Asgard and Midgard – you may inform your Commander you have sabotaged the deal all by yourself."

Natasha blew out a long breath. The scene had gone just as she had envisioned it, and she tamped down the triumph in her voice. "Get married," she offered. "Take a wife and have her ascend the throne with you. But not Amora – nor me."

Loki frowned. "Then who, in your opinion, should I wed?"

"Sif," Natasha declared. "Marry Sif, and rule Asgard at her side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about Amora: I love the idea of the enchantress. She's beautiful, intelligent, and powerful, so why doesn't she grab my admiration in the same way Black Widow did? I guess I just don't feel her motivation. She seems to want nothing more than magical knowledge and Thor (and if I'm wrong on this, please correct me.)
> 
> So I tried writing a backstory for her, including her banishment under Karnilla and the constant bickering with her sister. It helped a bit - I just need a few more layers to really identify with her the way I do with Natasha, who is inherently so lovely and complex.
> 
> In the meantime she makes a fantastic villainess, as I continue in my journey to get to the heart of Amora - where more resides than a desire for a man (I hope.) My apologies to those who see her as a sympathetic character.


	9. Angles

_"There are women who inspire you with the desire to conquer them and to take your pleasure of them; but this one fills you only with the desire to die slowly beneath her gaze." – Charles Baudelaire_

* * *

For a long time there was silence. Natasha finished her wine, poured another glass, and topped up Sif's drink before grinning at Loki. "I'd give you more too, but you already smashed your cup."

"I do not need wine," Loki replied in a low voice. "Nor do I need to shackle myself to a wife who hates me."

"I hate what has happened to Asgard even more than I hate you," Sif retorted.

"There, you see. Why would I ever tie myself to such a shrew?"

"Because the entire realm will be filled with joy at the news," Natasha pointed out. "With Sif at your side you can accomplish more than you ever thought possible. You do not want your rule to be remembered as the darkest time in Asgard's history. And before you start to tell me you do not care, remember I  _know_  you, Loki." Cautiously she placed her fingers over the place where she had carved Perthro on his chest. "We are twins, right? I want my missions to succeed because failure is unthinkable, and it's the same for you."

She expected him to shy away from her touch, but he stayed where he was, gazing into her eyes. There was something predatory in the way he never blinked, but Natasha knew how to measure and return a challenge. For a long time they simply watched each other, attended by the guttering candles and Sif's wary audience.

"I do not want to marry Sif," he repeated.

"That is a relief," Sif declared. "However, you must give up your current bout of nonsense and attend the realm – Volstagg could do a better job of ruling it at the moment."

"Which is why you need her." Natasha indicated Sif with one hand.

"Which is why I wanted you!" Loki leaped to his feet, took the edge of the table, and with a heave flipped it to one side; his violence cast wine across the carpet in a bloody wave. "You and I could have been ruling the realms together, Agent, and none of this would have been necessary. Instead you left me here, victim to any fool with sweet words and foul designs on the throne."

It was supreme irony that Amora chose to reenter the chamber at that moment. "I have waited long enough," she declared. "Throw these prisoners back in the dungeon and take me back to your bed!" She stopped, taking in the ruined table and smashed goblets. "What in Odin's name has happened here?"

"I have also had enough." Sif also got to her feet and strode to the side of the enchantress. "No more will I suffer your presence in the rooms where my queen once lived."

Amora raised one hand, obviously about to blast Sif back with some sort of magic. Natasha exclaimed and also rose, ready to go into action, but Loki stopped her. "I told you to wait on me," he said through his teeth. "Do not dare to burst into my chambers uninvited again, enchantress."

"I was your friend when you had none." Amora drew herself up. "And there is more to it than that - you know this."

Loki's teeth showed in a snarl. "You dare to speak thus to me?" No one moved, and he added in a loud shout, "Out of my sight! This instant!"

Natasha waited, prepared to spring forward into a quick roll. She knew she was no match for Amora's powers, but perhaps she could get in one hit before being overpowered. However, the enchantress turned on her heel and smacked a guard out of her way. "This is not over," she said, before she left the room.

"She does have a certain style – you've got to give her that." Natasha put her hands on her hips.

Loki collapsed in his chair. "I should never have taken up with her," he said in a low voice. "Not now, not ever. Nor would I have, if my heart were not filled with longing for something it could not hold. Regret is not in my nature, but by the Nine I do regret this."

"Ridiculous." Sif flung an arm at Natasha. "What you desire is right here, offering a solution to your problems if you will only listen. As for my part, I regret your stubborn pride which will force you to ignore Natasha's beauty and bravery."

"Sitting right here, listening to every word, not comfortable with compliments," Natasha pointed out. "I also have one regret, as it happens. Our wine is smashed on the floor thanks to your little tantrum. We have a lot more to go through, and alcohol would make it all run so much more smoothly."

Loki looked astonished for a moment before he started to laugh. "Behold, Sif, the one being who can make me sweet-tempered!" He snapped his fingers and the table righted itself; gold cups appeared in front of each chair, filled to the brim with some bubbling drink. He lifted his chalice, drank, and set it down carefully on the table. "And there is more? I thought I had heard the end."

Natasha estimated the time was right for her next move. She moved to Sif's side and pulled her in for a deep kiss; as their lips met Loki smothered a curse. "What is this! Damn you both to Hel – do you seek to torture me? Is this all a way to make me regret your imprisonment? Because it will not serve…"

"Hardly, although I must admit this is the strangest three-way negotiation I've ever brokered." Natasha gave Sif another lingering kiss and sat down in the carved chair, heavy with adornments. "Usually it's me and the dude trying to get another girl into our bed, but you're the one acting like a vestal virgin."

His hand shot out and caught her wrist. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Is it not obvious?" Sif took her own seat and locked her arms around Natasha's waist. "If you and I are married, Silvertongue, I will not object to you two having a love affair. However, Natasha and I have already become lovers – so your little dig about my being a statue and a stranger to passion was false, if you must know. And I will  _not_  give her up now."

"Exactly." Natasha nodded with satisfaction. "I couldn't have put it better myself. Sif and I will stay together, whether you join us in bed or not."

"But you have already betrayed me," Loki hissed. "I cannot take you back after that."

"No, we already told you the assembly in the tavern and our supposed revolution was all a line of gossipy bullshit, slung about by idiots and that blond beauty who just stalked out of the room."

"I don't mean that, Natasha. You promised me no one would see the mark I gave you when we were in the safe house together. Kenaz." Carefully Loki placed his open palm on her thigh where the rune lay under the light fabric.

"And no one has," she finished triumphantly, ignoring the shivers blooming under his touch. "You told me no one could  _see_  it, not that I had to remain faithful – your exact words when you drew it on my skin. The night Sif and I hopped in the sack it was dark in the room - she did not see your secret. I kept my promise to you and always will."

Sif barked a short laugh. "There is no need trying to get around Natasha – she will beat you down in the end. I learned it at my own peril. In fact, she is the reason I agreed to be here in the first place."

"Forget all that." Natasha held out her glass for more wine, and after a moment Loki poured it for her from a jug with the figure of a naked girl holding a large bower of grapes on the side. "Dude, you're getting the offer of a lifetime. Don't tell me you haven't lusted after Sif at one point or another because that's bullshit – she's too luscious. And you get to watch us together – join in if you like. Or you and I can go have sex in another room and Sif won't mind because I'll join her later for her turn, but I must add it would be more fun and less time-consuming if we could all just hop into one bed. However, I certainly won't pressure you one way or the other – just don't expect me to ask again. Like you, I will only extend this offer once."

Loki sat without moving, his intelligent eyes moving between them. Natasha, entirely at her ease, drank more wine and winked at Sif. She tried to imagine anyone with a penis turning down the opportunity to bed them both and failed.

"You told me once you missed me. Does that still hold true?" he asked.

"Now, and always." She felt it was safe enough to touch him and put her hand over his, where it rested on the table, long fingers splayed.

Loki rose from his ornate chair. With one jerk he pulled Natasha onto her feet, thrust one hand into her curls to drag her head back, and bit her neck. "I should order the guards to cleave your head from your body this instant," he growled.

"You will not do so!" Sif sprang to her feet.

"No. I will not do so. My bed has been so cold without your fire, agent, no matter how many playmates Amora brought me."

Natasha stared up at him, trying not to melt from the heat of his breath on her neck. Kenaz was on fire, demanding loveplay and release in that moment; she couldn't wait a second longer. "Will you take us both, then?" she managed to ask.

Stepping behind them, Sif cupped Natasha's chin, pressed a fervent kiss on her lips. "Gods, you are like a flaming brand. I want you among the pillows with me this instant. If you turn us down, Silvertongue, I will take this mortal as mine for her lifespan."

It was the perfect thing to say; Loki would never reject something claimed by another. His physical desire very obvious against her hip, Loki covered Natasha's mouth once more with his. "How could I say No? By the scales of Jorgmundir, you must take care. My passion may light you both on fire." His white, even teeth bit into her neck, and he pulled her flush against his prick, rearing under the leather of his armor.

The feel of his teeth against her jugular was heavenly; so were Sif's hands, coming from behind to caress her breasts and force the linen dress off her shoulders. "Then we have an agreement," Natasha managed to gasp. "For God's sake let's go seal the deal right now."

* * *

Having a bed large enough to park a yacht in was beneficial, Natasha discovered. As Loki pushed her onto the pillows and covered her mouth with his, kissing her so violently she was breathless, Sif was able to push up Natasha's gown, lick her belly and thighs.

"She's about to see your mark," Natasha whispered to him. "But if the three of us are going to do this, you need to release me from that vow and give me permission for her to share it."

"Granted." Loki paid no attention to Sif; he was too busy trying to remove his breeches with one hand.

"And do you still have your scar?"

"Yes – yes…" He fell half on top of her, panting wildly.

Natasha ran one hand through Sif's hair, caressed the V of Loki's back with the other. "That's heavenly – you are wonderful. Your hands are strong and gentle at the same time. Kiss me and use your teeth – don't hold back. Please."

"Whom are you addressing?" Loki sat up with an astonished look on his face.

She pulled him back on top of her. "Both of you. Now – don't stop again or I'll have to return to Asgard with my whips and handcuffs."

* * *

Kenaz put Natasha on the brink right away. The games she had played in the dungeon to get Loki's attention created a blazing pyre in her blood, and she arched under Loki's tongue and Sif's hands. "Wait," he ordered, pulling back suddenly. "You are so close, so quickly. Is it my magic?"

"And my touch." Sif drew a line up Natasha's belly, pulled her in to bite her neck. "I know exactly how to make you beg for it, Natasha."

"So do I." Loki bit the other side of her neck, licked down to the tips of her breasts. "Never," he whispered, "ever have I wanted a woman so much."

"Please," Natasha cried. "It's both of you, both at once. Please, now."

"There is no more waiting - I must have you." Loki pulled open her thighs and mounted her, pressing inside with a excruciating, delicious thrust. At the same moment Sif claimed her for a long kiss and pulled Natasha's hand onto her wet flesh, moaning with delight.

Loki hissed and withdrew, rubbed his length against her slit; he reentered her and moved with long, slow strokes. Natasha followed his rhythm with her hands, caressing Sif boldly with her thumb and two fingers within. "Kiss me now," he demanded. She closed her eyes and felt his lips, teeth, and tongue; a moment later it was Sif's mouth on hers. Then Loki. Then Sif.

Then it all blended together: a swirl of harrowing pleasure that racked her from the inside out as, for the first time in her life, Natasha lost complete control.

* * *

The candles guttered low in the curved holders when Sif fell asleep, one slender arm under Natasha's neck. Loki lay very still on her other side, but when she tried to rise and steal out of the bed he caught her wrist with one of his feline reflexes. "Come and speak with me in private, agent," he whispered.

"Okay." Cautiously she slid out of the sheets; Sif stirred but didn't wake.

Loki went to one wall and pressed a carved dragon's head. A panel slid open, filled with exquisite velvet and satin. He reached in, withdrew a robe of fine lawn cotton with a wide silk ribbon sash, and handed it to her. Like the wool dress, the garment fitted her body to hold and reveal, both at once.

Natasha followed him out of the chambers. As she had expected, Amora was in the hall, lying in wait for him with a face of thunder. "Rutting with mortals? Are you that desperate? It will not stand! Our agreement was made long ago, and by the Norns I shall claim it."

Interrupting her loud diatribe, Loki held up one hand and said, "Not now. I will have your things from my chambers returned to you in the morning."

They left her behind, still shouting with rage about treachery and broken vows.

* * *

As on the night of the fateful proposal, he headed to the safe house. Natasha climbed up the hidden stairs into the tiny room, adjusted her robe, and sat in the comfortable window seat; his magic made it look as though snow fell outside. It was as though they sat in a tiny wood and glass bubble.

"You're going to have to explain all of this to Amora at some point," she reminded him.

"I am afraid it will win you a powerful enemy." Loki lifted her to sit on his lap, slipped his arms around her waist, and with a long sigh pressed her close to purr against her neck.

"I'm used to it."

He looked up, his hair sliding back from his face. "I still wish it could have been you. If you told me now you would join your life with mine and wed me, I would make it happen this very instant."

Natasha shook her head firmly. "No. Every detecting sense tells me that wouldn't work. Sif will be the perfect choice for you – I think you'll find Asgard will explode with celebration when you announce your marriage. As Queen she will be beautiful, brave, honest – and revered."

Loki closed his eyes, drew her down for a long kiss. "You seem so tender when you speak of her. Is it possible you bear some love for that fierce maiden?"

She shifted; already she could feel his hardening length against her thighs. "You already know the answer – I just don't do the whole romance thing. However, I will tell you this. I'll do anything in my power to keep you and Sif safe, as well as the peace between our realms."

"But you would do that for anyone – for Clint Barton! He is your friend – do not deny you would move mountains to save him if he fell into danger." A dangerous, jealous spark kindled in Loki's eyes.

"But I'm not sleeping with him," Natasha argued.

"I betrayed you once – why did you not pay me back in kind?"

Natasha kissed him lightly. "Nah. Not my style."

"But why do this for me, if not for love?" Loki held her closely, one hand sliding under her robe to feel for his Kenaz mark on her leg. Instantly her clit began to flutter, echoing the wild beat of his heart.

The black hair was shockingly beautiful against his pale skin; Natasha remembered the first time she saw him in the asylum, sitting upright and slender as a reed. "You call me Agent," she replied slowly. "Never anything else. Others say Baby or Sweetheart or junk like that, but it is as though you found the part that is most important to me – as though you admire what defines me." She brought her lips very close to his parted mouth, felt his breath on her skin. "And why did _you_ relent, Loki? Why didn't you kill me tonight?"

"Your plan for Asgard was well thought-out. Even I must admit it will solve several problems at once. And there is the little matter of what is in my heart."

Natasha groaned and tipped her head backwards. "And I'm going to need a tall shot of vodka if we're going to talk some more about relationships and feelings."

"No, no. No more talk." Loki kissed her again, so sweetly her head spun. His tongue gently lapped her lower lip and the edge of her mouth, promising desire and something more. For a long time she stayed like that, embracing him with no wild lust behind it, simply an unknown mystery she couldn't define.

"Agent," he whispered, tasting like wine and sharp virile male, "perhaps you are not so immune as you think."

* * *

The entire realm erupted with shouts of relief when the engagement between Sif and Loki was announced, just as Natasha predicted. The warrior had earned a hard-won respect with her loyalty and courage; there would be a ready-made following in place when she ascended the throne next to the AllFather.

Natasha returned from Midgard after contacting Sergil's widow and daughters in time to see the celebration. She watched from the shadows of the dais as Loki led Sif by the hand onto a broad balcony, heard the huzzahs from the streets below as they raised their arms together in triumph.

When they returned to her glowing from the outpouring of happiness from the Aesir, Natasha emerged and wrapped an arm around both their waists. "Nicely done," she said.

Loki and Sif shared a brief but bright smile – the first she had seen between them. Naturally he ruined it by adding, "Too bad they couldn't have seen Sif's hands moving between your thighs not an hour earlier."

"Mmmm." Natasha pulled them closer. "That  _was_  very nice. However, it's no one's business but our own."

Sif kissed her on the mouth, face alight with joy. "This is all thanks to you. I never thought a mere mortal could be so important to our realm, but I am glad to be proven wrong."

Firmly Loki took Natasha's chin and turned it so he could also kiss her; he took the chance to slide his tongue over hers for a long taste. "Will you stay the night, Agent?"

"We will make it worth your while," Sif added with a feral grin.

Natasha regarded them steadily. She was the focal point – they shared their embraces with her, not with each other. Like the obtuse angle of Kenaz, she was the center, and Loki and Sif lay on either side connected to each other through her.

She hoped eventually their physical union  _would_  happen and the three of them could become a triangle. It would make them all stronger as a result. However, the history between the AllFather and future Queen was such that at the moment, Loki and Sif needed her in the middle to keep them connected: "For Asgard," as Fandral might say.

Luxuriously she returned his kiss and held Sif's hand tightly in both of hers. "I'll stay," she promised.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not a traditional fairytale ending, but no less happy for that. In any case, Loki and Natasha aren't off the hook quite yet. I have one final volume of Celestial Twins nearly complete; watch for Delirium in the next few weeks.
> 
> Thanks so much for taking the time to read my stories. I cannot tell you how much it means - writing is the dream, and you, lovely readers, add the magic.


End file.
